His name was Wilson, and he was a skinny, scrawy, whiney sort of fellow. He was adopted from the pound and made so much noise on the way home that his owners stopped the car and got him out to see what was the matter. There was no matter, that was, as they would find out for the next 15 years, just Wilson.
The scrawny, black cat made his mister sneeze and wheeze, and he was as naughty as they come. As a kitten, he never slept -- it was the talk among all who knew him. And he rarely did as a grown-up, either . . . creepy, some would say.
The truth is, Wilson never grew up. He remained a pushy, whiney, high-maintenance kitten all his life. When his home expanded to include a dog -- when he was 10 -- he pouted under the bed for over a year, coming out only when the dog was outside or he when he was personally assured privacy and protection from such a beast. You never do see a Halloween cat along with a dog, do you?
Wilson was skinny and he stalked around with his back all hunched up a lot, because he was always nervous and somewhat hesitant . . . as if he saw things no one else could see. Under the dark-lit sky, he longed to stand on the face of a sleeper and paw their hair on the pillow . . . so he spent most of his nights in a little "house" all his own in the corner of the bedroom.
He liked to go outside, but was only allowed in an enclosed yard because he couldn't be trusted to look after himself, being the way he was. The little black cat never accepted that and used to plot and plan all day, just waiting for the chance to run out the door as someone came in. His mister and missus finally stopped chasing him, knowing he would come back eventually and beg to come in. Here is a picture of the naughty little thing doing just that:
See his orange Halloween collar? Standard uniform for him -- he always looked quite dapper.
See his look of sincere regret and posture of reform? See the plea in his eyes? All lies. All deceit. But charming deceit. As soon as the little black cat gained entry, he would proceed to immediately sit down -- even before the admitting door had been closed -- and cry to go out. 'Tis true.
As you can see, this cat was a lot of trouble and a lot of time and a lot of mayhem and, for all his fifteen years, he made his mister sneeze and wheeze, but, despite all that, his mister and missus loved him absolutely.
The Original Halloween Cat died a little over a year ago. Well, perhaps it is more proper to say, he left his mister and missus, but he can still be seen every Halloween . . . on postcards & pillows, on candles & candy, in windows and down alleys. His mister stopped sneezing and wheezing and, for that, his mister and missus are grateful. But despite that and despite his constant whining and his constant trouble and mayhem, they miss him every day . . . but especially at Halloween.