The Ghost in the Rafters (No alcohol was consumed prior to this vision, however plenty was consumed after.)

The day started like all others. I wake up, trip over the cat as I run to the bathroom, then trip over the rug on the way out. I make coffee, feed the cat, and stoke the fire --- however today, after that everything got hinky.

The cat was sitting on the arm of the couch, meowing and pointing his head upwards at the 12-foot beams in the family room. I mistakenly ignored him, so he jumped on an antique table and tried to jump up the wall onto a beam. As I watched his aerial acrobatics I saw a large black diaphanous figure float along the top of the wall and disappear into the entry hall. The cat, feeling vindicated gave me his best, “I told you so” look and proceeded to curl up on my lap, burying his head in the corner of the couch. Chicken! Wimp! Pussy!  (That last thought got me a quick dig with his claws into my thigh.)

George of course, being the rational member of the family asked what size the “apparition” was and could it have been a bat?

A BAT! Is he crazy? The mention of bats requires at least three therapy sessions for me.

“NO! It wasn’t a bat.” I said. “I would have heard it fly by and it would’ve needed to be four feet tall.”

“Maybe it was a ghost owl?” George asked.

“Maybe you’re sleeping in the garage tonight.”

“I’m just trying to help.” George said. “And what the heck are you doing?”

“I’m bobbing and weaving,” I said as I moved to the kitchen to get more coffee. “I’m making myself a harder target to attack, in case it was a giant mutant bat from outer space!”

“Would you like the bug zapping fly-swatter for protection?”

“Great idea!” I got my coffee and picked up the Lysol spray sitting on the counter, making my way back to the family room.

George looked up from his I-pad. “Are you planning to disinfect the intruder before or after you zap it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m using the Lysol like bear pepper spray. If it tries to attack me, I’ll spray it in the face before it gets me.”

“The more I think about it, I bet it was the ghost of Aunt Betty stopping in to say hello. And she wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Two hours later the cat is curled in my lap with his head between his legs; while I’ve upgraded my line of defense to a baseball bat and am typing with one hand and holding an umbrella with the other.