We buy Kit Kats. They are kit kats.
We carve pumpkins with butter knives. They carve everything, with their own hands.
We wear masks. They would never do such a thing.
Cats are better at Halloween than we are.
All of this amuses them terribly.
The more seriously we take Halloween, the more hilarious we are to the cats. The year I came in dressed as a black-and-white cat, Olive toppled over from laughing so hard. It took her five minutes to catch her breath and point out that I had to wear extra clothes to look as good as she does naked.
Meanwhile, down the hall, Oliver is figuring out where to fit “celebrating Halloween” into his packed schedule of “celebrating Everything.”
Oliver is the sweetest spice cookie since the first Samhain. Oliver is the boy who says, “trick or treat, but either is okay, really.”
Oliver would go through his candy and give you your favorites, even if they are his favorites, too. If you get scared, Oliver will distract you with Oliver jokes, like should I dress up as RetinOliver, since I look good for my age, or CholesterOliver, since I am a saturated fat enthusiast?
But a few doors down, Winky is exasperated.
This is a good thing in Winky’s case, as it only means Winky is still breathing.
Winky is not amused by Halloween. Winky is not afraid of Halloween. Winky is the guy at the end of the block who shuts the lights, draws the curtains, and leaves a bowl of raw Brussels sprouts on the stoop with the sign “TAKE ONLY ONE.”
Winky hopes the hooligan kids will egg the Lounge so he can get a free breakfast. Winky likes to torment Ruby by reenacting “Thriller,” but Winky does not need to wait for Halloween for that. Winky thinks “patience” is funnier than a full-sized human dressed up as Buzz Lightyear.
But if you really want to get cats to crack up, you can haul out Ezekiel, our long-suffering skeleton.
We station our plastic pal in the Lobby every September. We sit him up on a visitor bench and give him a nametag, so everyone knows he is part of the family.
But the first thing the cats do is mock the poor guy.
Deku leaps up beside him, as giggly as a gumdrop: ‘Zeke, we’re used to softer laps around here. You gotta eat a few more Milky Ways.
Meanwhile, the three musketeers, Luna, Berry, and Willow, tell scary stories. See? This is what happens when the wet-food cart runs late. At 1:00 pm, Ezekiel was as plump as a pumpkin. But now, it is 1:04. It could happen to any of us.
Corduroy just snickers.
Really, is a Dollar Yard bone man supposed to scare anyone? Is this the best that “death” can do?
Corduroy may look like a circus peanut, but he has an undefeated record against death. Corduroy has stomped death like a stale sour patch kid. Corduroy has candy-cornered death until it apologizes and hands over its peanut butter cups.
And, though he’s come close enough to death to smell its musty, oniony breath, Corduroy refuses to view his life as a horror movie. So what if he has epilepsy? Well, everyone has something.
Everyone, except the poor plastic skeleton on whom Prescott pooped to make a point.
And that is precisely the point.
The cats outdo us at Halloween because the cats are not afraid.
OK, that requires clarification. The cats are afraid when appropriate. Gator is afraid the universe is not expanding rapidly enough to accommodate his ego, and it may stick out the top. Chip is afraid of a shoulder shortage, which would leave him nowhere to land when he plays Superman.
Ruby is afraid Winky will persist in existing. Eeyore is afraid of molecules.
They are all afraid that pirates will intercept the wet-food cart on its voyage to the lobby.
But cats are not afraid of something so insipid as death.
At least, not Tabby’s Place cats.
Does death not realize that every one of our Spidermen, fairy princesses, and Strawberry Shortcakes came from a hopeless situation?
Antar the Mallomar was wounded in war-ravaged Beirut. The silver lion, Willie, survived a traumatic brain injury. Lucy toppled toxoplasmosis from its thorny throne. Graham cracked the code on panleukopenia’s password. Batty flew through four letters that intended her doom but became her deliverance, for FeLV was the trick that treated her to Tabby’s Place.
They have watched love arm-wrestle death and walk off with all its Kit Kats.
They have met superheroes, costumed in a vet tech’s scrubs or a volunteer’s faded jeans.
And, even when death seems to have its day, and goodbyes leave us as gaunt as ghouls, the cats keep Hallowinking.
They have seen how the movie ends. There is a great full-moon yet to come, and nobody will be missing, and the wet food will never be late again.
Who’s afraid of a plastic skeleton? Stick a cat bed in his lap so Deku will have some lumbar support.
