Death has always had a soft spot for Cats. On the magic-saturated Discworld, anthropomorphic personifications take on a life (or, in Death's case, an existence) of their own.

Death is a seven-foot tall skeleton with pinpoints of blue fire in his eyesockets; he is not the ruthless destroyer of legend, but rather a timeserver who has all Eternity to serve.

The Death of the Discworld is the classic Seven Seals-style Grim Reaper, with the black cape, scythe and white steed (called Binky). He has a manservant called Albert, as in Steptoe, who opted to serve Death for eternity rather than die and face a wizard's afterlife with the creatures from the Dungeon Dimensions. He also has a lineage, having adopted a daughter called Ysabell who married Death's short-term apprentice, Mort, and who eventually gave birth to Susan.

These days Death also has a kind of familiar in the form of the Death of Rats; originally an intrinsic part of the Reaper himself but now an entity in its own right.

He tries very hard to understand mortals, but this effort is largely negated by his utter lack of anything even remotely resembling a sense of incongruity or a sense of humour. He does care for them, and in Reaper Man he defended them to Azrael against the soullessness of bureaucracy. He's concerned that he's not being a people person and that people shouldn't treat him like they treat denitist appointments (Non Timetis Messor). In his attempts to get a better relation with his clients he has made many attempts to emulate human culture, mostly in vain. He lives in a self-styled cottage which, for example, has bedrooms, in spite of Death being proverbial for not sleeping. He thinks emotions that he has no reason to feel. He tries to tell jokes. On the whole he's just looking for a little validation...

Despite rumour, he is not cruel. He is just terribly, terribly good at his job.

It is said that he doesn't get angry, because anger is an emotion, and for emotion you need glands; however he does seem to be capable of a piece of intellectual disapproval which has a very similar effect.

He is a traditionalist who prides himself on his personal service, and, despite the absence of glands, can become depressed when this is not appreciated.

He appears to derive his opinion of how he should live by observing people, but the nuances consistently escape him. He has a bedroom, for example, because even though Death never sleeps, it's right that houses have bedrooms. On his dressing table he has a pair of silver-backed hairbrushes and a little glass tray of cufflinks, despite having neither hair nor cuffs. He thinks he ought to have such things.

Humanity intrigues Death. He is particularly fascinated by mankind's ability to complicate an existence which, from Death's point of view, is momentary. He seems to spend a lot of time trying to learn, by logical deduction, the things that humanity takes for granted. In the process, he seems to have developed what can only be called preferences and likings for cats and curry.

He has tried to take up the banjo, but lacks any skill with such a living thing as music.