………….

They buried the Church Cat in the yard behind the old stone chapel in the autumn of 1927.

No one could say exactly when it had arrived. Some claimed it had simply walked in one winter evening and curled itself beside the altar as if it had always belonged there. Others insisted it had appeared the night after old Father Mallory died, slipping through the half open door while the bells tolled for the dead.

The strange thing was that the cat never seemed to age.

Children who grew into adults swore it looked exactly the same as it had when they were young. Its yellow eyes watched every baptism, every wedding, every funeral.

When it finally died, the whole village attended the burial. Someone carved a small stone marker and placed it beneath the yew tree.

But even now, on quiet nights when the chapel stands empty, parishioners swear they hear soft paws moving across the wooden pews.

Death, it seems, made very little difference to the Church Cat.