Did I scare ya?
Please say yes, even if you’re just humoring me. It would really mean a lot.
This year, there won’t be anyone knocking on my door. Sadly, that means I won’t have a delightful evening of shrieking at youngsters and scaring the bejeezus out of them, before loading them up with an excess of sweets in order to ultimately scare the bejeezus out of their parents. Ah, bliss!
Alas, it is not to be, unless I figure out a good way to deliver the goods from a distance and without allowing sticky fingers to gum up the candy bowl. Tricky delivering treats in times like these. But, there is a bright side to this spooky, eerie, creepy moment.
The chief beneficiaries of a preternaturally quiet Halloween will be cats. No ringing doorbell. No screaming psycho-lady showing off the KITTY KITTY KITTY to a wide-eyed toddler. Just a sad shell in a snow leopard costume whose best ideas flutter away in the wee hours like “hateful little ghosts” (H/T to Angela for providing the perfect words and inspiration for this very blog).
Wait. Where was I? My mind has gone mushy from thinking about all the candy that won’t be shared…distance…shrieking.
Our Tabby’s Place cats rarely hear a doorbell (fosters notwithstanding), and the only candy in their world is presented in an adorable, white kitty candy dish on the lobby counter.
Screaming is largely limited to Olive‘s objections to being handled for her own…um…benefit.
Costumes are limited to a few gung-ho staffers and volunteers. (Yes, Carley Rose, we know you aren’t a fan of fake cat ears, and we’ll take them off for you.)
And so, no matter what we humans decide to do, our lobbyists, loungers, suite-ies, office-ianados, and community crew will be allowed to enjoy a very quiet, very happy Halloween.