Prologue

I'm a 78 year old woman. In all my life, the only things that have ever brought me any joy were the cats that graciously existed in the world alongside me. Some people that knew me, knew me as the 'Crazy Cat Lady' or 'The Useless Woman'. I'm not special, I never got fully educated or found a job that paid a high salary. I've worked, but only so I could come home to my cats knowing that I could afford some more food for them and for the strays outside that I had been feeding for years. Some had found homes, and others had never found their place other than that alley-way. Just like me, they lived simply. Since I was never motivated to do anything in life, other than being with my cats, some people used adjectives like 'lazy' to describe me. I didn't care about being social, in fact, I preferred to stay within solitude with my kitties. I wasn't charismatic, or well liked. I was respected within a group of cat rescuers, but only because I assisted when I could. Other than that, my parents weren't there a lot, so I never formed an attachment to them.

That's why when I passed away the only thought I had was… "What will happen to my cats after I die?" I had heard that sometimes cats would eat their human due to starvation. I knew that my cats would probably suffer long before deciding to do that. And since I didn't have children, or friends, I really didn't believe anyone would notice my death until my house started to stink or bills started to pile up. I was deeply concerned...