Bang goes another life. Gotta laugh, cries the part of you that knows better.

Is that that light again? No...different. Not as nice -- not at all soul soothing, nor heart swelling, if you weren't at the moment incorporeal and had a heart and could know the difference.

Red, that light -- a parachute flare glaring and smoking high overhead. That you down there's keeping his muddy head down under his muddy helmet, but the parachute flare swinging down has spotlit you, like a bug caught when the light clicked on, alone in No Man's Land between the Gerry wire and the forward scout trench. It is only a matter of when. Look -- a line of hopping mud -- someone ranging a machine-gun.

Yesss, that boy's adventure stopped short by one big bang, and myriad little thuddings of raining soil after.

Funny, as in funny-peculiar, that you should remember that during your transitioning over from flung cat to whatever's next. Some of your other You's replay, all clear as movies.

Once you were that baby, blitzed by one of the two sides in another war far bigger than little you.

You recall being a romantic girl, too, quite blinded by love, crossing a street at night -- and a light then too -- and a bus horn very loud.

And just now you were just becoming comfortable being a cat -- and only got the one cat life! But you gotta laugh.

Now this bright Cecil B DeMille light -- This is That light. And the place that has no walls, no anything as limiting as architecture, you know really is not a cat's heaven -- isn't anybody's kind of heaven. You are incorporeal, after all: between bodies, as they say.

You discover again, for here you remember it and all you were before, that this idea of heaven actually resembles more...an All Souls Jobs Bank: for all of us, eventually, inevitably, should one very surprising day find ourselves between lives. Happily, here the waits are short. No references required. You learn by doing. And your choices truly are limitless.

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