I have accepted fear as a part of life - specifically the fear of change... I have gone ahead despite the pounding in the heart that says: turn back. Erica Jung

Saturday, October 30, 2010

The Ghost Cat


Stacy groaned and flipped over to bury her head against Jim’s back.


Jim grunted and pulled his pillow over his head.


“Stacy, do something about that cat!” Jim’s muffled voice came. “I can’t sleep.”

Stacy laid there, reluctant to leave the warmth of the bed. Another bang of the door came. She turned over and sat up. She could see a small white paw under the door where it didn’t quite meet the floor. She could also see the glean of a green eye staring at her next to the paw. She got up to open the door and glare down at her tortoiseshell cat, Munchie. Glancing at the clock Stacy saw that it was 3:23 am.

“Can’t you wait for morning?”

Munchie turned and ran down the stairs to the kitchen door, her miffed owner behind her. Once the door was opened she sashayed over to her bowl to sit with a queenly dignity for her very early breakfast.

After ten minutes of dainty eating and a quick wash she led Stacy to the back door. Stacy opened the door and stared out at the heavy fog that obscured the night. Munchie started out, then sat down just inside the door, looking out.

“Oh, no, you don’t. You are not waking me up again to let you out.” Stacy put her foot under the cat’s rump and shoved her out the door. Munchie turned to hiss at her then raced across the deck into the fog. Stacy turned to make her way back to bed. As she got settled back against her husband’s back she heard a jingle coming from downstairs. She raised her head. There, she heard it again.

“What the…?”

“What is it?” Jim asked.

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“That jingling noise. It sounds like it’s coming from the kitchen.”

He listened.

“Sounds like the bell on the cat’s collar. Big deal.”

“I put Munchie out.” Stacy got up to investigate the sound.

Back downstairs Stacy opened the kitchen door and flipped on the overhead light. There, in her bed next to the iron stove, laid Munchie. She opened one sleepy eye to glare at her in annoyance.

“If Munchie is in here,” Stacy moved to the door. “what did I kick out the door?”

Then it dawned on her. The whole previous episode was silent. Not once did the cat meow, purr, or make a sound with her collar bell
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