Shinigami in Paris

02. Angel of Death in the City of Love

Twinkles of the spring sunset were sparkling with gentle strokes in the sky over Paris. A man and a woman were flying in the painting by the young artist Rose. She amazingly subtly managed to capture the exciting beauty of the landscape that opens up before the eyes: the fabulous rooftops of houses and cathedrals stretching to the horizon, the flowers scent of the spring petals and lovers hovering in the wind over the Eiffel Tower.

"Mmm, what a beauty," you'll say. "Meow," me and my Bro in this story will say.

A gray stray cat, a regular of this roof, watched with interest the girl who came here several times a week to admire his kingdom. With his feline permission, she painted her drawings here, from time to time bringing him delicious offerings.

And we – cats – remember everything. And we pay for everything with a double coin.

Rose laid aside the brush and took a thoughtful look at her creation. A pleasant May breeze rippled through her bronze hair down to her sharp shoulder blades and elegant breast. And then it ran over the soft fur of a stray cat, gently blinking in pleasure with his green eyes. The artist girl stroked the cute gray cat. Her hand plunged pleasantly into the soft fur. It was warm from the sun. The cat placed his cheek under her palm.

"Oh, oh, oh... Do you want me to stroke you here?"

She was one of those who talked to animals, especially cats, believing that they understand everything. The gray creature purred, turning the other cheek like a Christian.

Well done, two-legged – you carry out your existence purpose very well.

The picture was almost ready, if not for one thing. It bothered her for a long time. Only one thing she could not figure out to complete the painting – the face of a man. Who is he? She did not know. She portrayed the girl from herself, but whom she should portray the guy? No idea. Bananaheads from her environment did not fit. The face of the first comer or the guy at the next table too.

The sun has already given a place to the stars. The unfinished painting, along with her other belongings, rested on the chair nearby. Rose cracked a slice of airy French cake with a dessert fork and eagerly directed it to meet the hungry taste buds, which immediately set off a firework of endorphins in her head.

BAM! BAM!

An involuntary smile of pleasure changed the previously sour face. She always carefully kept her figure, but at times allowed herself forbidden pleasure. Yummm... Yum-yum...

Today you can allow it. What would you eat if today was the last day of your life?

Something tickled along the bare ankle between jeans and sneakers. It was a gray cat. He looked at Rose.

"Ah... it's you again. But I have nothing for you. You don't eat sweets, do you?"

The stray cat pushed her with his paw. Rose gave him a sniff of the sweet. The animal turned away.

"You see, you don't eat that."

She took the last, biggest piece of cake with a fork, and when it almost reached its destination the cat jumped on Rose. The cake became part of the trendy print on her T-shirt. And the asshole who did it kept looking at her with his green eyes.

"Oh! Crap! What have you done?!"

Rose jumped up and began to shake off the stuck sweet blot from herself with a napkin. Useless. Half adhered to clothes, and the other part mournfully flaunted on the asphalt.

From such a tragedy, somewhere in Japan, a hungry sumo wrestler burst into tears.

The frustrated artist looked at the cat, grabbed her things and went to the ladies' room, where she ran into a group of high school girls who had arranged a photo session of mirror looks.