“Happy Halloween” from Hannah
Not really my favorite holiday
The doorbell rings constantly, small people dressed in obnoxious outfits shout something about, “Trick or Treat!” My siblings and I, the three felines, do all that we can to avoid the foray of strangers and their insane ways. The cats leave me out in the open though, squeezing themselves into spaces that will only hold them. And the worst of it? My mother encourages me to join in on the holiday festivities. She knows I love children, what she can’t understand is how much I dislike seeing them dressed as if the Mother Ship landed and they all rolled onto the tarmac, located our street address and instantly hit, ‘The Big One!’
A few days back I thought I’d try something. It was the day I saw her decorating for this ridiculous holiday. We’d had a nice rain, something like 9.5 inches. It was time for my last nightly visit to the backyard. I swam back to the compost pile and found something interesting. Mom tried calling me in several times, even sloshing through the deep water, flashlight in hand, attempting to pry me away from my snack box. I was able to ignore three or four of her pleading attempts to get me inside, but finally I caved. This woman was soaking wet, had an attitude and appeared to be on the verge of calling for reinforcements. (That would be the cats.) I caved and headed into the light. OMG! Dripping wet, mouth wide open and words falling forward upon my ears, “Hannah! Look. At. You! What on earth? “
We entered into the den. Slowly. Cautiously. I knew exactly what was expected. I walked straight into my cubby. Mom quickly disappeared. I feared what was to come next. And sure enough my fear materialized. She had the camera. Something important was about to be documented. Oh Lordy; not good! It’s 11:30 at night. Dad’s out-of-town on business. All of her friends are surely sound asleep.
I stayed here, panting, trying to catch my breath. Mom left the room after she snapped these photos’ and I had no idea what was coming next. Remember, it’s late. Time for bed. What could mom possibly be plotting? Just about then, she rounded the corner, towel in hand and spoke these four words, “Go see Mr. Sprinkles.” I didn’t argue. As she removed my mud encrusted collar, wiped my webbed feet, I tucked my tail between my legs and followed her into the shower.
She never spanks me. Never yells at me and is the best mom anyone could ever hope for, but look at what I have done. She’s tired. She’s old. She’s wanting to go to bed, but now she can’t.
The scent of cucumber and mint begin to waft thru the air. The warm water and massaging of the soap ease my tired and weary bones. But poor mom, she sits at the foot of the shower stall, soaked now by very dirty water. And then I suddenly realize, I never brought her the treat for my trick. I’ll get that possum come morning. He’ll be floating. He lost his footing right before my deadline.