A Lockout
A cat’s eye view of Halloween night…
And so the ritual begins. Small humans roam the streets, all hyped up on the kinds of treats that big humans typically ration for the purpose of bribery. Humiliating outfits are abound, comprised of old rags, plastic sacks, enormous white sheets, obnoxiously large, wide-brimmed hats, and an array of peculiar masks which make humans look a smidgeon uglier than they already are. Vegetables are carved to look like ghoulish grinning faces and plonked outside doorways and in windows to give us poor felines a fright as we go about our night-time exploits. (Felines other than myself, of course. Nothing frightens me, I can assure you.) Then there’s all the noise — the yells and screams and cries from humans of all sizes, even the ones large enough and old enough to know better. The entire palaver makes my tail itch.
The night belongs to us cats, you see. When the world gets dark and the streets fall quiet, we emerge from our warm beds and comfy hiding places to stretch our legs and soak in the fresh air beneath the cover of the black sky. But tonight, and every night that this bizarre dress-up takes place, we must share our beloved streets with two-legged, opposable-thumbed imbeciles.
In normal circumstances I would avoid this hideous night — resign myself to a comfortable armchair and a good, long, dead-to-the-world kind…
