The Cat Who Knew I Was Already Dead

I was four months into the new job when I realized I'd become a zombie. Not the flesh-eating kind from movies, but the suburban office variety—shuffling between cubicles, eyes glazed from spreadsheets, consuming lukewarm coffee and my own diminishing will to live.

Margot noticed first. We were at the community pool, one of those September evenings when the water was warmer than the air. She tread water beside me, her hair slicked back, watching me with those unsettlingly perceptive eyes.

"You're not there anymore, are you?" she said softly. "At work. You left yourself somewhere back in July."

I wanted to deny it, but what was the point? My soul had clocked out weeks ago. Only my body kept showing up, typing emails I'd forget by noon, attending meetings where I nodded at things I didn't hear.

"I have a cat," I said, because it was the first thing that came to mind. "His name is Barnaby. He watches me sleep."

Margot laughed, a bright surprised sound that rippled across the water. "That's what you lead with? A cat?"

"He's the only one who sees me. Really sees me."

She floated onto her back, staring up at the darkening sky. "I see you."

The water lapped between us. A mosquito buzzed my ear. Something in my chest—my heart, perhaps, or whatever remained of it—gave a small, painful thud.

"Then see this," I said, and sank beneath the surface.

underwater, everything was muffled and blue. For twelve seconds, I held my breath and wondered what would happen if I never came up. If I just stayed down there, becoming something else entirely.

Then hands grabbed my shirt. Margot hauled me up, gasping, and I emerged spluttering into the cool evening air.

"You idiot," she said, but she was smiling. "You can't die here. They'd drain the whole pool."

"That's your concern?"

"I like this pool."

"Margot."

"What? You need a better reason?"

"No," I said, realizing she was right. Reasons didn't have to be noble. They just had to be real. "I think Barnaby would miss me."

"That cat sees you," she agreed. "But so do I. And I'm not letting you go that easy."

She didn't let go of my hand either. We stayed in the water until our fingers pruned, two zombies learning, maybe, how to live again.