Graves' end
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The only cat Tomas Delgado could find, before his old ride died out from under him, was a young tom. A black one this time, barely weaned. Weak. Not long for this world, most likely.
Still, it was all that was available on this rainswept night in Valley Village, early in the Year 2000.
‘The Year 2000,’ Tom mused. It was hard not to think of it in capitals and quotes. He’d never imagined that he might see the calendar roll over to that science fiction date for himself, not in all the decades of his unnaturally-prolonged existence. It was the symbolic start of The Future, and had been the focus of anticipation and dread across all the worlds in almost equal measure.
The former necromancer could likewise never have guessed that this zero-year sandwiched between two colliding centuries was also apt to be his last.
Some nights he might’ve found a dozen cats or more congregated behind the Ralphs supermarket at the intersection of Magnolia and Coldwater Canyon, but this evening the inclement weather had driven them all away. The housecats had retreated to their homes and the ferals to whatever dry hideaways they were able to find.