I should have known that his death was too good to be true. I thought that I had seen and heard the last of him. Seen, yes. Heard, no.
     Oh, he died all right. I was at the funeral, just to make sure. I wasn't the only one who attended for that very reason. I wasn't the only one celebrating, either. In fact, everyone there except the minister was in a good mood. A joyous occasion, we all agreed. Theodus Strem was finally out of our lives. There couldn't ever have been such a despised man in all history. People naturally hated him with a passion.
     Oh, maybe Stalin, or Hitler, or McCarthy, or Hussein might have had a larger audience, but none of them could have matched the individual intensity of hatred that Strem inspired in those he met. He would lie to your face while picking your pocket, just to see if he could get a rise out of you, so he could laugh in your face when you got mad. There never was a bigger back stabber. His hobby was overturning baby carriages by accident, or so we surmised.
     Okay, so he finally died. Louis Sherman, our hero, blew a fuse and shot him at point blank range with a .457 magnum. We all showed up at the trial as character witnesses for Louis several weeks after the funeral, to get back at Strem for having a closed casket funeral. It was in his will, and had nothing to do with the condition of his face after having it removed by multiple large caliber gun shot wounds. Phil Reasons poured a potent herbicide on his grave so that grass would not grow over it.
     I think that you get the idea. The world was a better place with his absence. I know of no one that felt remorse at his passing. Literally no one. So we all sighed a big sigh of relief. If only we had known. Theodus was a rich man, and he owned several brilliant men of science by the purse strings. If only we had know the contents of his will, some of what followed might have been avoided.
     The first victim was Harriet Swanson. She was his next door neighbor and probably hated him worse than anyone else. She went to see her doctor for a routine pap smear and ended up being artificially inseminated with Strem's seed. The doctor was in the will. The doctor lost his license. Harriet was strictly gay and hadn't been with a man for years, and she nearly committed suicide when she found out that she was pregnant with Strem's baby. Then she nearly killed the doctor. She ended up satisfying her urge to kill with an abortion. None of us blamed her. It was suspected that she was the one that blew up his grave with dynamite.

     Then the cards started coming in the mail. You've all seen the electronic greeting cards that play little sweet melodies. When I opened the first one, there was no return address, and the postage was metered to an account code. Some gimmick, I figured, until I saw the signature of Theodus Strem inside. Then the music stopped, and Strem's voice came across plainly from the speaker.
     "Hello, Woodruff. How is the world without me? Treating you well? Well, we'll just have to do something like that."
I shut the card to turn off the recording.
     "Hey, that won't help." The card started laughing.
     I threw it in the trash, and it laughed even louder. I pulled the hysterical card from the basket and inspected the revolting thing.
     "Won't do any good. You can't turn me off. Go ahead, try."
     The words began to sink in. The card was responding. I tore the cover off on the card and then the equipment cover. I expected the usual flat pack battery and cheap circuitry, but found instead a very thin black slab.
     "What do you think, Woodruff? A great way to last eternally, don't you think?"
     There was a thin wire that came out the side. It fell out easily in my hand. The access hole sealed over. Its laughter resumed. I took the rectangular disc to the back door. I placed it on the bottom step with half of it hanging over the drop off. I put my weight on top of the half on the floor and then gave a power kick to the free half. It knocked me off of my feet, but it did nothing to the thin slab, except make it laugh more strenuously than previous capable.
     A chisel and six pound hammer did no more than my kick. Neither did my mini acetylene torch. Diamond drill, nada. "Down a bit. Oooh! Ah. Just right."
     The card proceeded to be as nasty as Theodus ever was. It was almost as if he were set free, a bit nastier. I opened the water sewer cover with a crow bar. "Where you belong." I eulogized as I let the disc slip from my grasp. It laughed. Then it splashed. I made a few calls to others inquiring as to the receipt of similar cards. None were reported, but I asked all to please respond if they did. They did.
     We had all grown to know one another from law suits, the funeral, the media, and we had become something of a united front in Strem's later years. Among us were authorities on all fields. Several of the discs were kept for study. The rest were gleefully and ceremoniously disposed of in ignoble manners. We became rather good friends at the reliving of his funeral. He's been reburied in several volcanoes, the Mindando Straights, the Mariana Trench, the south pole, atop Everest, any place that people didn't frequent was a candidate and the debate was often spirited, with the card listening in.
     As a group, we had power over the cards. They turned out to be very advanced design artificial intelligence circuits housed in a virtually indestructible casing, with renewable air cell batteries. The speaker was piezo electric, with surprising stats. As a group, the brain was hard put to cope with us. Together, we could laugh back, or ignore it, or deride it nonchalantly. We often thanked the brain for showing up to afford us more merriment and cause for celebration. The cards did have a means of intercommunication, so each knew what had gone on previously. What started off as a smug arrival soon turned timid and apprehensive. Eventually the cards ran out, or they managed to convince the sender to stop. We never found out which.
     After that, we started going our separate ways, and life hasn't been the same. It's not as bright as it once was. There is talk of expeditions to bring some of the retrievable discs back, but others argued that they should arrive on their own. A more fundamental faction requires that the dead be left to rest, and they refused to become ghouls.
     But if any of you happen to find one of these discs, we would appreciate that you mail it to the following address. And remember, send only the best.

     Taberta jumped up to the window sill, scoped the basement from left to right, then dropped down to the floor. She scampered to the laundry basket and dug out all of the socks. With her front paws, she stuffed them into the emptied clothes pin bag, then dragged it over to the window.
     Bruce followed when she was done. He put the loop around the neck of his twenty four pound body and leapt. He dragged the socks out with his claws, then sent the bag back through the window. Taberta batted the clothes pins back into the bag, then followed Bruce out of the window.
     She grabbed a sock in her mouth, careful not grab it at the malodorous toes, and joined the procession of twenty seven other cats that were making off with the socks. They ran as fast and as gracefully as they could with such a floppy burden. They found their way to the bush that obscured a storm drain and deposited the socks within.
     That done, she returned home quickly, then spread out in the sunlight, as if she'd been there all day. Debby stepped out of the house, and Taberta stretched her full length from claw to claw. She got to her feet and ran over to Debby. She pressed her weight into the girl's ankle and meowed.
     "You want more food? You ate not long ago."
     Taberta purred.
     "Go catch a mouse." the girl mimicked her father.
     Taberta was quiet, then walked off of the property with seeming indifference. She made her way, once out of sight, to the alley. She ducked into a disguised hole in the back of a familiar garage. Up on the bench, then the shelf. Up two layers in the corner, to the rafters. She capered along the narrow board to a shelf two feet higher. Above this was a hole, holding a plank that doubled as a high trellis and within the foliage was a walkway, just big enough for cats.
     She followed it over to the window which was at the other end. She listened, and heard his voice. "I am alone. Be my guest, Taberta."
     She hopped down from the window and made her way to the kitchen, following her nose.
     "Did everything go as planned?"
     Taberta sang a smooth long musical meow.
     "Excellent. You are sure that you got them all?"
     She repeated her verbal reply.
     The man laughed. "I suppose that you would not be too modest to accept a slight reward, would you?"
     She was up on the table and brushing up against his hands.
     "I should say that all modesty has abandoned you, Taberta. Shame on you for gloating."
     She purred.
     "That's better, you pushy pussy. Flirt! Let me see what we have about the kitchen."
     Her purr became louder, and she went from table to floor to counter in barely more than one single move.
     "Greedy, greedy cat. Eine Katze ist immer hungrig. Essen den ganzen Tag, wann du schlafst nicht. Schlaffen und essen. Das ist die Katze."
     She turned three circles in place.
     "Warum?"
     She stood on her hind legs and patted his chin with right paw. She sat down on her haunches.
     "Oh, all right. If you insist. I will show my appreciation. Steak, it is." He laughed. "The Worthington's will wonder where all of their dirty socks went to. Serves them right, the snoots. Oh, one condition, Taberta. If you want steak, I want you to go over to the Myerly's and get up in their attic. It would make such a fine cat box. He pulled a big deal out from under my nose. Tell everybody in the neighborhood to use it, but tell them to be very quiet. I want a huge spread before he discovers it with his nose. All over the attic. Get it under the insulation so that it seeps through to the ceiling. Now how would you like your steak, rare?"
     She danced about the cabinet. He went to the refrigerator, and she followed on his heels. Her head beat his hand into the compartment.
     "Not that rare, my hussy. We're sharing this. Be patient."
     She gave a meow that rose in pitch, undoubtably a question.
     "I am sorry. I forgot that you don't know the meaning of the word."
     He placed the steak on a broiler pan and placed it in the oven. He set it for broil and went to the living room. He sat down in his favorite chair, and she was in lap before he got settled.
     He spent several minutes stroking her back to the tip of her tail, then switched to a long cheek rub. She salivated from the attention, keeping her eyes barely open in a wobbly ambiance of delectation.
     She was not ready when he put her down to turn the steak. It took a few seconds for her to come out of the pleasure stupor and follow. She tiptoed at the oven door to get a glance. She licked her chops.
     "Looks good, huh? It's not every cat that gets to dine in such splendor. I should think that you should remember how lucky you are to know me."
     He closed the oven and returned to his chair. A note pad went into his lap before Taberta could gain it. She sat down, consternated, then settled for his folded legs, just above the knees.
     A few minutes later, he went into the kitchen, and fixed a vegetable. She looked at the oven, occasionally sniffing. It took will for her to hold still, but she scarcely managed when the steak came out of the oven. He took it to the table.
She leaped up onto the table and bit the steak. Its fresh oven heat bit back, and she let go before any lasting pain formed. She growled.
     He shushed her aside and began to cut the steak. She watched the fork move with the steak in all its glory. He spread it out on the plate, blew on it, then set it before her. She tenuously tested it before finding it cool enough. She devoured the steak as if she had no taste buds and until she was too full to swallow more.
     "Had enough? Was ist das? Wirklich?"
     He lifted her and carried her downstairs and let her out the trap door, visible only to cats and other short animals. She wandered off past the garage into the alley.
     When he returned to the table, Bruce was sitting there. The steak was untouched.
     "Help yourself. There is plenty. I'll slice you off some more. How did you do?"
     Bruce nudged a small cloth bag, mere inches square in his direction. He paused in the cutting that he had just started and overturned the bag. Four diamond rings, none of which could be called a compromise, dropped to the table, along with several loose stones.
     "I hope these didn't ruin your claws."
     Bruce gave a non-chalant brrrt!
     "I hope that you were careful not to leave any fur in the settings from which you removed these."
     Bruce looked at him and sighed.
     "Sorry. Just making sure for my own peace of mind. I'm not questioning your competence. You're the best of the lot. Now let me finish carving this for you. I have a little pate' left, if you'd like some."
     Bruce brrrted.
     He finished cutting and went to the refrigerator and retrieved the pate' and set it before him. Bruce sniffed coolly, then took a bite. He purred.
     "I saved it just for you. I do remember from somewhere, yesterday, was it, that it is your favorite. Bon appetite. Now listen to what I want you to do tomorrow. Do you remember the building that I showed you? The museum? The one with lions of stone out front that you liked so much? That's the place.
     "You see, they are bringing in a collection of famous gems. Are you ready for the big times, Bruce? Do this one right and you'll be eating pate at every meal. Now the job has to be done at night, well after closing time, when security is at its most relaxed. Here's a map of the floor plan. This window is your entrance. The latch will give if you put your weight against it. But be careful not to break the glass."
     The man went into great detail of exactly which route to take and all of the possible dangers and when to expect them. He gave contingency plans for all possible scenarios. Bruce finished eating long before the end of the briefing. At the end of his talk, he bit the man's hand lightly and scampered heavily out the upper window.
     The telephone rang. He answered.
     "Jeff Woodbridge here."
     "Jeff, this is Klinfer. Just called to tell you that the shipment netted us an extra forty five percent over anticipated. Keep the good work up. I don't see how you do it. The stuff is first class."
     "Later."
     "Oh, yeah, sure. But my appreciation. I like the lifestyle. Later."
     Jeff placed the phone down and picked up the jewelry that Bruce had delivered. He placed it in a disguised safe. He crossed the room and lifted the cover off of a cage. Six rats were in separate compartments in the cage.
     "Don't worry. If Bruce does his job correctly tomorrow night, you won't have to wait in there long. I'll set you free in celebration. I'll even get the gang together to help you celebrate. We'll have a real good time of it."
     The rats shivered.