Morning

          Harold sat down on the creaking pine chair that some idiot had painted black. The chair wouldn’t have held a normal man of Harold’s stature, but Harold was a ghost, and even though he was fully materialized and dressed in a fine suit, he didn’t weigh anything.

            Miles climbed up his makeshift ladder of books, scurried on to the top of the kitchen table, and opened his iPad. “Your finances are all in order,” Miles said, “and you are very much in the green.”

            Harold tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “We can transfer the money easily enough, right?”

            “The money can be transferred with a swipe of my tail,” Miles said. “But the house will take some major shenanigans.”

            “Yes, the lawyers and paper pushers won’t understand when I leave the house to a pack rat.”

            Miles rubbed his hands together. He thought that Harold would leave the house to Miss Kitty and her lovely horse.

            “That’s very gracious of you, Harold. But I plan on going back to England. It’s time for me to face my past. I think you should leave the house to Miss Kitty.”

            “Oh,” Harold said. “But who will take care of Miss Kitty?”

            Miles laughed, which sounded like a cat sneezing.

            “I think Miss Kitty can take care of herself, Harold. And someday, I plan on returning as a horse. I’ll live with Miss Kitty and Patches, munch grass, and run with the wind.”

            Harold looked at his packrat friend. “Well, I guess anything is possible. But I see you more as a Mule than a horse. Yes, Miles the Mule. I like that.”