"Soda?" I asked as I climbed into bed. "Do you think that I'm crazy?"

Sodapop chuckled a little bit. "Of course not, Ponyboy," he replied sleepily. "Delusional, maybe, but not crazy."

I sighed, thinking for a moment. I had told Sodapop all about the black cat that had been turning up for the past couple of months—all about how it had followed me (with miraculous speed no less) to the cemetery. I had spent the entire evening, trying to lure the animal into Soda's view too, but it had eluded us. One time, even though it was right in the middle of our backyard, it found a way to vanish before I called Soda over.

"Soda?" I asked again. "Do you ever think about Johnny?"

"Sure," he replied.

"What about Dally?"

"All the time."

I was quiet again. "Do you think it's possible…" I stopped myself in mid-sentence. Maybe I shouldn't worry my big brother. "Never mind."

Soda rolled over and looked at me. "Come on, Pony. You know you can't start a question without finishing it…"

I smiled to myself. Soda wouldn't be able to sleep if I didn't just spill it. He always had to know what was next, what was coming—it was part of his personality. "Do you think," I took a deep breath, "that someone can contact us after they are dead?"

Soda looked confused. "Like who?"

"I don't know…" I trailed off for a second. "Someone like Johnny… Or Dallas."

Soda gave me a strange look, as if he was pondering the possibility. "I suppose," he replied after a moment. "I mean, if they had unfinished business or something…"

I was silent—unfinished business. I hadn't really thought of that before. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, if they have something left to say, or do, they might have to make some sort of contact before they can truly pass on."

My brothers and I had never really been religious people, but we always believed that there was something more than just plain living. We believed that, one day, we'd see mom and dad again, and even Johnny and Dally—that we'd leave this world and head to someplace bigger and better. "Because… I think that cat is a messenger for Dally, or is Dally, and that there's something it has to do," I said. It was the first time I had actually voiced what was on my mind—tangible proof that I really did believe the cat was Dallas—and it sure sounded ridiculous.

Soda just stared at me for a moment, a blank look on his face. "Ponyboy," he began. "Is that was all of this is about? Where would you get an idea like that?"

I climbed out of bed and went over to my book bag. I pulled out the Local History textbook and opened it to a page that I had marked. "In class, we were learning about the Native Americans and how they believed that all animals had sacred powers. How they thought that their family members could come back as animals, either to warn them or to comfort them during hard times." I pointed to the page in the book and handed it to Soda. He struggled to read it in the dim light and then looked over at me, placing the book on the bedside table.

I shrugged sheepishly. "It's been over a year since he died, Soda, maybe there's something left that he has to do, some unfinished business like you said."

Soda looked at me, his face serious and almost angry. "Why Dallas, though?" He asked harshly. "I think he left things absolutely finished. He died because he wanted to—he knew it was coming. He practically planned it out."

"I don't know," I replied quietly, climbing back into bed. I knew that the thought was getting Soda all juiced up. None of us liked to talk about how things had ended for ol' Dally. "But that cat has an uncanny resemblance to him. It's scruffy and mean and picks fights… And its eyes are like his. I mean, I've never seen eyes like Dally's. They were one of a kind, cold and hard and uncaring—and that cat has the same eyes."

"Alley cats are usually scruffy and mean, Ponyboy… Sometimes they have blue eyes…"

I felt a little dejected. Even Sodapop was having trouble believing me. "But what if it is Dally? What if he can't pass on because I'm ignoring him?"

"What if it is just a cat?" Soda replied matter-of-factly, his tone almost mocking.

I rolled over, turning my back to Sodapop. If it was just a cat, then I would be crazy. It was almost too much to handle.

Soda took notice of my cold shoulder. "Look, Ponyboy," he began, his voice soft and soothing. "Don't let my disbelief stop you. If it will make you feel better about this, you should do what you feel like you have to do."

I turned to look at him again.

"You're a smart kid, Pony, and you're not one to just jump into believing some superstition. I'm sorry if I'm having trouble seeing the situation like you are—I haven't even seen that cat—but I do support you… And if you feel like you need to talk to that cat like it's Dallas, then by all means do it. I wouldn't think any differently of you, you're my little brother."

"Thanks," I said. "I know this whole thing is absolutely nuts."

Soda shrugged. "But if it makes you feel better…"

I smiled to myself. "I guess it would."

Soda smiled too. "Heck. Maybe your talking to that cat would just scare it off for good—keep it far away from here. Plain old alley cats don't like attention… You might just solve your problem that way too."

"Maybe," I replied then thought for a moment. "Do you think you could get Darry out of the house one night, so he doesn't have to know about any of this…"

Soda laughed. "Sure, little brother."

I turned away from Sodapop and closed my eyes. "Good night," I said.

"Good night," was his reply.