5 Haunting Tales for Halloween | Part 2
7 Minute Read
Grandma Kat’s Halloween Kittens
On the very edge of town there was a lovely little cottage that had been there for as long as anyone could remember.
It was home to an old woman and her array of cats, all of which stayed near as possible to her property and never seemed to cause any trouble. The woman herself was well known for her amazing green thumb and spectacular yearly Halloween displays.
Every child, and parent for that matter, knew to save her house for last when Trick-or-Treating on Halloween night because no other could possibly top it. Aside from decorating her yard with all manner of carved pumpkins and gourds, she lined the path to her house with candles, lanterns, twinkling chimes, and gorgeous displays of cut flowers. Everything sparkled in the moonlight, and there was a heavenly aroma of spices and roasting apples, along with the earthy undertones of a well kept garden.
Just before you could knock, she would open the door with a smile, donning the finest witch’s costume. I always marveled at how she swept up her long silver hair and coifed it on top of her head with marigolds and roses from her garden. Perhaps most remarkable of all, she had a knack for handing out the exact candy each child favored, and always by the fistful. And then there would be a steaming cup of mulled cider to chase away the Autumn chill before the long walk home.
While many joked she truly was a witch, there was no denying her magical presence. One could not help but feel safe and comforted when she was near, and she had a peculiar way of showing up just when you needed her most. It was rumored that her name was Katherine, but everyone I knew called her Grandma Kat.
Grandma Kat did not have a family of her own, or at least we never saw anyone come to visit her. She often acquired the help of local kids during planting and harvest time. The pay was usually a few dollars for our labor, plus a share in the spoils, resulting in the most delicious home baked treats you could imagine.
One year, when I was about 13, she ended up with a litter of kittens ready for adoption just in time for Halloween. There were 5 of them, as black as coal with bright gold eyes, and for all I could tell, completely identical. My friends and I had been helping her all summer long and into the Autumn harvest. Since there were 5 of us as well, she offered us each a kitten as payment, with our parents’ permission of course. But there were three conditions if we were to accept.
First
Each kitten’s name was already chosen, and we were not to rename them. We could, of course, give them a nickname, but when we needed them we had to call them by their true name.
Second
Once they were grown, we were to heed them if they cried to be let out, or more importantly, if they cried for us to stay in.
And third
We must understand that this is a life long bond. Once made, we must never give them up or send them away, or it would destroy them.
Eager for adorable kittens, the five of us happily accepted the terms, and we sealed the agreement with a toast of mulled cider, and a purring kitten in each of our laps.
My kitten was named Sabbath, but we called her Sabby for short. For the first 16 years of her life she seemed like a normal cat. It was the 28 years that followed that marked her peculiarity.
Sabby was my little shadow, following me wherever I went. She would greet me in the morning when I woke up, and every afternoon when I came home from school. Whenever I was having a bad day, no matter where I was, she would find and comfort me. And any time I feared she was lost and cried her name, she would immediately appear, as if she’d materialized out of the shadows.
Everyone loved Sabby, even people who didn’t love cats. She had a way of winning your heart with her silent golden gaze. And her purr was so deep and strong you could feel it vibrating through your bones when she snuggled against your chest. It had a healing quality that never failed to make me feel better when I was sick or injured.
Most days Sabby was content to be an indoor cat, but on Halloween night she would cry at the door wanting to go out. The next morning she would greet us on the front porch with a few of her trophies, much to my mother’s horror.
When I was about 23, I was getting ready for a night out with some friends from college. Sabby wouldn’t let me go. In all my time with her, I’d never seen her in such a state. She’d hiss and merrowrl in a tone that told me to back off if I reached for the door, but once I took a seat on the sofa she’d leap up purring and nuzzle my hand for pets. After nearly 20 minutes of this odd behavior, I finally remembered Grandma Kat’s warning and decided it might be best to cancel my plans and stay in for the evening. Later that night I got a call. Everyone was ok, but a deer had jumped out in front of them. The car, as well as any hope of evening fun, ended up in a ditch. I was far more cautious of Sabby’s warnings from then on.
Sabby lived to be 44 years old, an unusually old age for a cat. She was never sick her entire life, not even so much as a hairball. I found her one Halloween morning curled up in her favorite box, cold, quiet, and peaceful. We buried her in our flower garden, and while my heart was broken, I could not truly lament her passing after such an extraordinarily long and full life.
But the story does not end here.
While I grieved, I would often dream of Sabby. Sometimes she would even speak to me with a human voice, and sometimes she was just a comforting presence. When she spoke of warnings, I would heed her, and without exception Sabby’s warnings always came true. But the dreams did not stop, not even when I no longer felt the immediate pain of her absence. In all honesty, I don’t think she has ever truly left me.
In the morning I’ll hear her little merps, like an echo of a dream upon waking. In the evening, I often feel a small weight settling down in my lap or on my feet when I’m reading or drifting off to sleep. Each time I’ll look down and nothing is there. And when I’ve lain in bed, too sick to move, I’ve felt a warm weight on my chest and the familiar rumble of Sabby’s purr, all the while knowing that when I open my eyes, I will find only an empty blanket.
I don’t know what ever became of Grandma Kat. She moved away from that cozy little cottage shortly after I started college. I can’t imagine she would still be alive, she was quite an old woman even when I knew her. Still, I can’t help but wonder. I’ve long since lost contact with my friends who also adopted one of her Halloween kittens. I suppose it doesn’t matter, but I wish I could speak with any of them and find out if their cats are still with them too.
It is only now, nearly two decades after Sabby’s passing, that I understand what Grandma Kat meant when she said this bond is ‘life long’. She was not speaking of Sabby’s life, but mine.
✦ FIN ✦
