His cat's been declared dead. She's fine. He isn't.
Erwin Callahan receives a letter saying his cat, Frank, has been declared dead. Frank, noisily eating her breakfast, disagrees.
By evening, Erwin's belongings have been auctioned off. Nobody can see him except a stranger in a hat, who buys on all of it and then explains that Erwin is the one who's dead. The overdue death certificate arrives next morning, along with a brochure: the afterlife is entered through the walk-in cooler of the nearest liquor store.
Living pets are not permitted, but Erwin brings Frank anyway.
Awaiting them are lines that vanish into the distance, a cat-loving ferryman, a Hades rebranded as a health spa, and a Department of Appeals whose motto is clear: We do not make mistakes.
They run into Nora, who has died twice and been flagged once for archival, which is cold storage for people. She's on the run from things that look like ferrets in suits. Their only way forward is an ancient woman who doesn't work for free. Her price is a job, and she'll be keeping something until it's done.
Death is final. Paperwork isn't.
A deadpan afterlife caper for fans of Douglas Adams and Terry Pratchett.
