A Spooky Cat Tail For Halloween
The following is a true story. The ghoulish names and disfigured faces have been changed to protect you, the reader. You have been warned. Proceed with caution.
Mr. Smith entered our office on a windblown autumn’s eve. His hunched posture and pronounced limp were a result of years spent in a rundown graveyard. He carried with him a decrepit crate worn down with much use and reeking of a peculiar odor. With a hoarse voice that begged to be heard, Mr. Smith wove his fiendish tale.
“Doc, do you believe in ghosts?” he cackled.
Taken aback by this unexpected question I replied, “Um, well, I guess I’ve often wondered about their existence.”
With a wry smile and drool teetering on the edge of chapped lips, Mr. Smith continued. “Well, let me put your mind at ease. Ghosts do exist.”
Though every bone in my body screamed to run out of the exam room, I stood riveted in anticipation of Mr. Smith’s story.
“Doc, my two cats Jasper and Bojangles are allowed to go outside whenever they want. I never believed in keeping them strictly indoors because I felt they needed to live free like nature intended. Well, one day Bojangles did not return home. On occasion they will disappear for a couple of days, but as the days turned into weeks, I knew something happened to him.
“Anyway, after a long day at the graveyard, I came home to find Jasper hissing at a closet: the closet that Bojangles liked to sleep in at night. Fearing the worse, I opened the closet door, only to find it empty. Jasper continued to hiss and spit, but at what I wasn’t sure. Then I noticed a foul stench coming from the closet.”
Speaking of stench, the smell coming from Mr. Smith’s crate started to fill the room and churn my stomach. But try as I may, I just couldn’t make out the contents within.
“Slowly Jasper backed away from the closet, and I noticed the putrid stink creeping across the floor,” Mr.
Smith continued. “Inch by inch, it made its way to an open window down the hall. Jasper was spooked and so was I. When the odor reached the window, it seemed to jump out and disappear.
“Suddenly, Jasper stopped his crazed antics and sat at the window peering into the distance. Doc, I know it was Bojangles visiting us from the dead. Pretty creepy, huh?”
“No doubt,” I replied, trying to stay calm as I peered at the rickety container resting at Mr. Smith’s feet. “By the way, Mr. Smith, I have to ask you what’s in the box.”
“Oh,” Mr. Smith raised the crate to the exam table, “it’s just Jasper. Sorry about the smell, but he pooped and peed on the way here. He gets so nervous sometimes.”
Jasper wasn’t the only one. A visitation from the dead seems quite far-fetched, but don’t doubt it. When the full moon is out and All Hallows Eve approaches, The Wild Side knows no boundaries.
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