"Jesus, I'm home!" Buddha called out in the small apartment as he took his jacket off and hung it up. There was silence.
"Jesus? Where are you?" The Buddhist began looking through rooms, but Jesus was nowhere to be found. Buddha smiled. Very funny.
"Alright. You can hide all you want. But I'm still going to make dinner."
After awhile, it seemed that the Christian man had not come to the table. Buddha frowned. He set the food on the table and rose to his feet.
"Jesus? Are you okay?"Buddha called out once more. He heard distant sniffling and whimpering. Jesus?
Buddha found his friend in the bathroom, crying. In his arms was a dirty, white bundle. Buddha gasped.
"Jesus? What's wrong?" Jesus held out what he had in his arms.
A dead cat.
Buddha felt his stomach turn, feeling sick.
"I came home and found him lying in the middle of the floor. He was cold. Really cold," Jesus explained, tears rolling down his red cheeks. Buddha hugged him.
"Jesus… oh, Jesus."
The cat was cold indeed – its eyes were closed and its fur was stiff. It smelled as it had been dead for awhile. It must have died in its sleep, Buddha thought. He reached a hand out to touch the feline carcass.
"I think it has passed in his sleep," Buddha told him. "Perhaps of natural causes. He was getting old, anyway." Jesus looked up at Buddha.
"He wasn't hurt?" He asked softly. Buddha shook his head.
"No. His spirit is in heaven, now." Jesus grinned.
"Or maybe he is going to be reborn into another cat." Buddha smiled.
"Maybe."