mister

There was a familiar soft pattering of paws on the floor, and Mister sprinted into the room. He went right across Murphy’s hardwood floors and cannonballed into my shins.
Mister is a lot of cat, checking in at right around thirty pounds. The impact staggered me, and I rocked back, and then quickly leaned down to run my hand over the cat’s fur. He felt like he always did, and his rumbling purr was loud and happy.
It took me a second to realize that I could touch Mister. I could feel the softness of his fur and the warmth of his body.
More to the point, a large cat moving at a full run over a smooth hardwood floor had shoulder-blocked empty air and had come to a complete halt doing it.
Everyone was staring at Mister with their mouths open.
I mean, it’s one thing to know that the supernatural world exists, and to interact with it on occasion in dark and spooky settings. But the weird factor of the supernatural hits you hardest at home, when you see it in simple, everyday things: a door standing open that shouldn’t be; a shadow on the floor with no source to cast it; a cat purring and rubbing up against a favorite person—who isn’t there.
“Oh,” Murphy said, staring, her eyes welling up.
Will let out a low whistle.
Father Forthill crossed himself, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth.
Mort looked at the cat and sighed. “Oh, sure. Professional ectomancer with a national reputation as a medium tells you what’s going on, and nobody believes him. But let a stump-tailed, furry critter come in and everyone goes all Lifetime.”
“Heh,” said Sir Stuart, quietly amused. “What did I tell you? Cats.”


Ghost Story Chapter 10, Page 107-108