Amanda Hopper Writes

A writer's tale of living and working in the country.

Phantom Kitty

Why do people have an innate fear of black cats?
When our neighbor found our cat at only six-weeks-old by the side of the road, the vet said that the kitten was probably dumped because he was black and it was only two weeks until Halloween. He not only looks like the black of moonless night, he has haunting emerald eyes. The perfect embodiment of a witch’s assistant in a B movie.
And strangers do have a reaction to him. Delivery men will freeze mid-step if Mr. Spock jumps onto the porch as they approach the front door. Then they chuckle out a nervous laugh and go on their way, frequently glancing back before reaching the safety of their cabs. 
I’ve never experienced the deeply hidden superstition… until two days ago.
I walked into my bedroom carrying a basket of laundry and found Mr. Spock sitting on my bed. He is strictly an outdoor cat; never comes inside. So I scooped him up and put him on the front porch and returned to my laundry.
Five minutes later I was emptying the dishwasher and felt something rub against my leg. I looked down and found Mr. Spock staring up at me with his grass-green eyes. “How did you get in here again?” He didn’t answer so I once again put him on the front porch.
I called out to the boys only to realize that only Ian was home… upstairs playing Wii one-handed. Suddenly I got that creepy tingling sensation on the back of my neck. Ian doesn’t like Mr. Spock. He would never let him in the house. At that moment, reminiscent of a gut-wrenching horror movie, a long high-pitch meow sounded from behind me. I slowly turned to find cat eyes staring back.
“You’re starting to freak me out Mr. Spock.”
I scooped up the lanky kitty and walked through the house looking for his entrance point. All of the doors were shut, windows shut, fireplace flu closed (hey I was desperate), until I finally made my way to the basement door.
Wide open.
Whew.
Then I started laughing. I had been tossing the cat out the front door and within minutes he had made his way back into the house. Which meant that he was hauling tail around the entire house, back through the garage, and up the stairs.
“Well played Mr. Spock.”
He yawned, blinked, and allowed a smug look to settle around his long whiskers. I rubbed his ears, then threw him back outside and locked the door.

Mr. Spock loves to roll in fresh grass clippings.

1 Comment

  1. Logical

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