[ WP ] You die and are greeted in the afterlife by the all knowing God ( choose one ) , ready to judge you . However , for some reason he has no recollection of you ever existing .

`` Jonathan Snatch, that's an interesting name,'' I thought as I heard it announced on the loud speaker. I surveyed the cafeteria looking room, looking for new movement. 
 
 People were waiting everywhere, like in the Department of Motor Vehicles waiting to take their driving test. The air seemed stagnate and tense. Some people sat fidgeting. One girl, tall and thin, who looked about 9, was pacing. You could see her recounting, debating and tallying things in her head. There were a couple people sleeping. How could you sleep at a time like this? Maybe they were devout Christians, Jews, Muslims, whatevers. Maybe they did n't care. 
 
 Where is this Jonathan Snatch? He knew his number was next. He was n't by the entry-way or the refreshment counter. Was he trying to hide? Did I miss the cloud of smoke? No way! Wolf's departure into a cloud of dark smoke was quick, but the pungent smell of sulfur lingered for a while. It was so quick, I ca n't even remember her first name. Gretta?... Grenadine?... 
 
 Just then, I see it... a man in a seated position starts zooming across the room as if he's in an invisible batmobile. He is wide eyed and smiling ear to ear. The thin patch of hair on the top of his head is flying over his bald patch. The long portion of his comb-over now waves behind his right ear. 
 
 Ahhh, that must be Jonathan Batch. I think he's driving a race or sport car. Nice. They have a funny way to escort you into heaven. Everyone goes differently. I guess it's a personalized fair tale entry. What a way to get into peace everlasting. And how amusing that Mr. Snatch just happened to be number 69. 
 
 Well, I'm next. I breathe in the stale air that was just a moment ago alive and whirling from Mr. Snatch racing into heaven. I ca n't help but sit on the edge of my seat. Fuck - I mean, Fart! Sorry, Lord. Fart, I'm nervous. I'm holding my fancy 3x3 computer printed calligraphic # 70 in both hands while I look up at the ticker tape. It still says 69. 
 
... Bing... 
 
 I close my eyes. I think my heart stops while I try to conjure up images of the beach, the sunset, fall foliage. 
 
... Justine Bieber... 
 
 Justine Bieber? My eyes spring open to see a now crumpled # 70 in my hands. I jerk my head up to view the ticker tape, `` 71.'' 
 
 I'm confused. I spend another second looking back and forth at the 71 on the ticker tape and the 70 in my hand. What the f... But before I could get the last word out, smoke silenced me and I choked on my word. I compose myself as the pungent smell of sulfur resurfaces. 
 
 OK, Manny, breathe. This can be resolved. Maybe there's a technical difficulty. Maybe you were n't supposed to be here in the first place. Ha ha, my number's not up, I think victoriously, almost laughing out loud. I recompose myself again because I do n't want people thinking I'm laughing at Bieber. 
 
 I go over to the refreshment counter for some water. A weird long-haired cat was taking orders from people and is now cleaning the counter and organizing the refreshments. 
 
 Excuse me, I'm number 70 and they did n't call my name. Is there someone I can talk to about that? 
 Sure, I'd be glad to help you with that. What's your name? 
 
 I'm Manny. Manny Lovett. 
 
 The cat's eyes turn cloudy like it has cataracts and its body stiffens almost as if it is stuffed. It's paws are firmly attached to the counter top and its eyelids flutter. 
 
 Oh, shit, kitty. You alright? 
 
 I look around to see if anybody will come to this cat's aide. And when I turn back around the cat is licking its paws and washing its face as if nothing happened. 
 
 They say, `` there is no Manny Lovett in our database.'' 
 
 `` Oh,... ok.'' I'm still a little weirded out by this kitty seizure I just witness. `` Sooo... I guess I'm not supposed to be here. Umm, how do I get out of here?'' 
 
 `` No one here is not supposed to be here. You either get smoked into hell or a dream come true heaven entry. What's your parents' names?'' 
 
 `` Alma King and Yule Lovett.'' 
 
 The cat gasps. Its tail starts to flare up and its eyes become wide. `` Alma and Yule?'' 
 
 By the tone of their voice, I ca n't tell if they are startled in a good or bad way. `` Yes,'' I say slowly and cautiously. 
 The cat looks at me with a strange compassion, `` I believe you,'' they say as they hop off the counter to my feet. They start to walk back and forth rubbing its body on my legs alternating in figure eights. I begin to feel strangely warm and secure starting from my chest and radiating outward. Overwhelmed, I sit down on the floor with my back to the refreshment stand. And the cat crawls into my lap and curls itself into a ball. I do n't really like cats, but they have always loved me. I intuitively begin stroking this long-haired cat. I am in a trance and yet I feel like I'm breaking down and being put back together again but stronger just based on how this cat is purring and looking at me. 
 
 My eyes glaze over and I begin to see in shiny hues of metallic black and white. Visions of clouds racing above a sun lit sky with naked trees swaying with the wind casting shadows on an otherwise barren ground a refreshing stream. There are no longer words, only the vibrations of the cat's purring. I now understand those vibrations. Alma and Yule stole me from my birth parents when their son, Manual, died at 2 weeks old. No cloud in the sky, it begins to rain a warm acidic rain. I see myself, my skin begin to wash away changing from from one shade of a dark shiny metal to grey to silver, each shade lighter in color until I am the light. It all becomes clear to me now. I see one of my birth parents. Oh, my Cat! He was my high school geometry teacher, Mr. Pink! I hated him; he was snappy and cranky all the time. And as soon as I was upset, the vibrations soothed me. It was time to reconnect. 
 I closed my eyes, breathed in deeply and was thrust forward in a coughing fit almost off the couch. 
 
 `` Prrrrrr, meow,'' said my cat at she got off my lap. She stretched her paws out in front of me and arched her back and yawned. I blinked slowly in a surreal state of loopiness as my son ran in the door in a bit of a panic. The phone rang on the side table beside me and he raced to answer it, but I got to it first. 
 
 I look my son dead in the eye as I picked it up taunting him, `` Ha ha..., you did something did n't you? Hello...'' 
 
 `` Yeah, um, this is Mr. Pink from the high school. I'm trying to reach the parent of Wiley Lovett.'' 
 
 The cat started purring and kneading my thigh. My mouth went dry.
