It is a truth universally accepted by all cat owners that cats can see ghosts.
"He's doing it again," said Katie.
"Are you getting that ghost, boy?" said Jo.
Maynard the Persian stared with wide eyes at the corner of the room.
"Yeah, stare it into submission, bud."
"He's such a creep."
"He's the best creep and we love him, yes we do."
Jo crouched behind Maynard and stroked his fuzzy back, startling the gremlin. Maynard snorted like a pig. Jo kissed Maynard's flat forehead.
Jo was a sensitive soul who had fallen in love with the messed-up puff ball at the back of the shelter cage. After three years, Katie had mostly gotten used to living with a demonic shadow that snored like an old man and pooped like one, too.
The ghost, however, was uncertain.
The ghost had been a ghost for so long they no longer had a name. They reasoned they must have had one once, but the days blurred together and memory was hard without a body to store it. Sometimes, there were moments of clarity like this one, the ghost trapped in a cat's unsettling yellow gaze.
Since Katie and Jo moved in, the ghost had felt particularly ghostly. The couple before had been great; jumping when the house creaked, creeping when the lights flickered, and, best of all, screaming at each other, one blaming the other when anything odd happened. Their emotions were so strong they could be felt all the way from this side of the veil.
These two loved each other. They giggled and hugged, cuddled on the couch, made dinner together, and laughed so loud it made the ghost's non-existent skull ache.
Their bubble of happiness discounted all oddities the ghost could construct. They danced like it was a club in the flickering lights, they shrugged and cuddled closer when things bumped in the night, and the time the ghost made the hallway look green, they simply changed the light bulb.
Nothing made them afraid. With no one to validate their presence, the ghost was fading.
Except while being looked at by Maynard.
The humans went off to do whatever they did and Maynard stared at the corner.
"Shoo," said the ghost.
Maynard watched the incorporeal echoes of life try to wave him away. His pupils dilated.
"Go play. Or sleep. Whatever. Just stop staring at me."
Maynard opened his mouth, his little pink tongue extended like a goat's, and croaked.
"I don't know what that means. Leave me alone."
The ghost tried to float around the cat, but his eyes followed, piercing, penetrating, though empty.
"You're freaking me out and I'm the dead one."
The cat leapt without warning and tried to catch whatever he was seeing on the bottom of the ghost's form. The ghost reeled back through the wall and into a bedroom. They heard the cat scrabble at where they'd been and meep.
The ghost stuck their head back through the wall and the meeps stopped. They pulled back and squeaks of loneliness restarted. Back through the wall and Maynard's mouth closed with his tongue sticking out.
"What?" snapped the Ghost. "Am I supposed to entertain you now?"
Maynard's eyes were perfectly round.
The ghost stuck what was possibly a hand through the wall and waved it around. The cat threw himself at it and the ghost pulled back and heard him hit the empty wall. The ghost did it again and Maynard was there, trying to get them. The ghost, feeling cruel, had meant to mess with him but the tactic backfired; the creature was enjoying itself.
Higher and higher the cat jumped. No amount of failure deterred him. The chase was important, not the catch.
Without realizing it was happening, the ghost, who'd forgotten they had expressions, smiled.
"Ugh, no!" The ghost flew backwards into the unused guest room. "Ghosts don't play! They haunt and spook!"
But friendship with Maynard once forged was a forever bond whether you liked it or not.
Maynard howled and whined and cried, his one brain cell reasoning that this usually did the trick. No other brain cell was present to suggest searching for the ghost.
The ghost weighed their options.
How long would it take for the cursed thing to shut up? Was it worth it to wait it out? What was existence other than waiting, anyhow? And what difference did it make to something that was possibly not real?
Maynard started to tear at the wall.
"No!" The ghost burst back through to a delighted snort from the cat. "You'll get yourself in trouble!"
Maynard jumped and without thinking, the ghost caught him.
They stared at each other.
Maynard had little expectations from the world so it was difficult to surprise him but even this was beyond his limited realm of reality. He dealt with this unknown by purring.
The ghost, on the other hand, was flummoxed.
They had never directly interacted with the physical world. Ever. Despite years of trying, all they could do was slightly move things that were already going to move. Never pick things up.
And yet, they held a vibrating cat.
Maynard settled with his paws over a shoulder, back feet resting on arms, and face tucked under a chin.
The ghost looked down and saw themself.
Herself.
Christie.
That was her name.
How many times had she forgotten?
How many more times would she remember?
It wasn't the worst as far as names go, but it hadn't ever fit. Never quite right.
The Ghost was a moniker a person could wear like a cloak.
Maynard purred so hard he choked, snuffled, then sneezed directly in what would have been the Ghost's face.
The Ghost tickled his chin.
A rising feeling of fullness rapidly flooded the incorporeal form and spread all the way down to...
She had feet.
She could feel them.
She had arms and they could hold.
She had insides.
And inside, she could feel love.
Suddenly, Maynard jumped down and raced off to the litter box.
The moment was over.
But now that Maynard knew of another being he could pester for attention, he would be back.
The Ghost haunted in place for a moment and tried to hold on to the warmth that had spread throughout her presence. It drained away like an unstoppered tub but a memory of it was still there. If she could keep it going, keep feeling it...
And here was Maynard, sprinting back down the hall and throwing himself at the Ghost again. He went right through and bounced off the wall but the game had begun.
They darted through the house and while they ran and dodged, the Ghost laughed.
Maynard wasn't used to this much exercise. After he stopped panting, he flopped in his bed. The Ghost hovered nearby to listen to him snore.
The Ghost did not want to ever forget again that she could laugh.
Months later at Maynard's annual checkup the vet congratulated him on becoming so fit. Katie and Jo claimed credit for the change and agreed to keep doing what they were doing.
Maynard was healthy and happy.
This made Jo happy and, because she loved Jo, it made Katie happy, too.