Chapter Twenty Eight
Twenty-Eight
Priya’s stomach was in knots on the day of Lady Whiskerbottom’s funeral. She knew Ethan wasn’t coming, but that didn’t make it any easier. She had stayed out of sight since he’d left, and it was time to face the world again.
The reporters were back, though only a select few, invited specifically to cover the event.
Puppa hired extra help and pulled out all the stops to meet Brooke’s every request—an ice sculpture of Lady Whiskerbottom, paw-print tapestries, and even a violinist crooning a mournful ditty for her kitty.
Pet influencers began arriving in droves, some with their own cats in tow.
Lady Whiskerbottom lay perfectly poised in a silk-lined casket, wearing a tiara and a hot-pink tutu.
Even in death, she looked as though the tributes around her weren’t quite good enough—not the catnip wreaths, and certainly not the memorial mugs with her face on them.
Strategically placed cameras streamed every angle of the service for her fans, who flooded the live feed with reactions and comments.
A separate screen showed a mosaic of virtual attendees, Lady Whiskerbottom’s exclusive circle of influencer cats.
Madame Clawdia, a poised Siamese, had a handkerchief tucked in her collar. Muffin, the orange tabby, swatted furiously at his human, while Pinot, the playful Bengal, kept presenting his backside to the camera.
Lady Whiskerbottom’s veterinarian delivered the eulogy, touching on her social media career and her influence in the feline fashion world.
He chuckled as he recalled her bites and scratches, proof that she did not tolerate being handled by just anyone.
His voice softened as he spoke about her final days and how she became an advocate for feline health.
Brooke sat beside Priya, tears streaming freely.
Priya put an arm around her as the room dimmed for the next part of the service—a slideshow of the cat’s most iconic posts, as well as some candid moments.
The screen lit up with Lady Whiskerbottom’s life from her early days as a kitten to her rise as an influencer.
Brooke’s tears gave way to soft laughter at some of the photos.
As the last slide appeared, a stylishly groomed cat in the audience yawned, sparking a wave of laughter.
The service ended with a reel of Lady Whiskerbottom’s brand endorsements. Guests were treated to a commemorative collar and encouraged to donate to a feline charity in her name.
Brooke turned to Priya, eyes red but shining with gratitude. “Thank you. This was everything and more. You and your family arranged the most perfect goodbye for my fur queen. I just wish Ethan and my father were here.”
“I know it would have meant a lot.” Priya drew her in and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “But Ethan’s in the middle of his promo tour, and your father will be joining you at the cemetery.”
“You’re coming too, right?” Brooke asked.
“Of course. I just have to take care of a few things, so I’ll meet you there. Your ride is all set, whenever you’re ready to leave.”
“You’re the best.” Brooke gave Priya a grateful hug.
As Priya watched Brooke mingle with the other guests, a small pang tightened in her chest. There was something about the way Brooke tilted her head and smiled at people that brought a sudden, vivid flash of Ethan to mind.
Taking a deep breath, she slipped out of the room in search of Mumma and Puppa.
They stood by the reception desk, their “funeral faces” firmly in place—kind but restrained.
Too wide a smile and they risked conveying a party vibe.
Too solemn and they would appear cold and uncaring.
Priya admired how calm and collected they looked, but she also sensed the dual current running beneath.
Moksha was getting its first taste of exposure outside the tiny community they’d been serving, and it was both exhilarating and overwhelming.
Puppa caught Priya’s eye and beckoned her over. Lowering his voice, he whispered, “Priya, beta, check this out. All the business cards are gone!”
Priya stared at the empty cardholder, then looked at her parents excitedly.
She could not remember a single time that they had run out of cards.
Catching the pride in Puppa’s voice, Mumma adjusted her posture, lifting her chin as though the missing business cards granted her a new level of prestige.
“Le, joyle,” Puppa quipped. “One pet funeral and she’s acting like royalty.”
“Maybe we should get her a tiara from Lady Whiskerbottom’s collection.” Priya laughed.
It had been a long time since Priya had laughed like that—light and genuine.
She quickly slipped on her “funeral face” as a group of guests passed by, but deep inside, something shifted.
A moment of joy had found its way through the cracks.
As she stood there beside her parents, Priya thought that maybe, just maybe, with enough of these moments, she could emerge into the light again.