The strangest sensation played across Davey's cheek.
Wetness. Rough. Small and rough. Fur...
'Wah-? Fur?' Davey opened his eyes and squinted at the morning light, beaming down through the open door, casting shadows through the spiral staircase. He was lying on the floor at the bottom of the stairs with Thomas the tabby cat sitting beside him, happily licking his face, tongue scraping up his cheek like a tiny sheet of wet sandpaper.
He gingerly explored his body. Nothing seemed to be broken. He tried to remember what he was doing.
The old man hauled himself to his feet, wincing and moaning at the pain, which seemed to fill every joint. He looked around the dusty cellar. Everything seemed to be where he remembered, except for one thing.
The casket had gone.