Sweet, Innocent Baby
The Phantom Cat
We’re a two-cat family again. We have a normal-ish orange cat and a phantom, possibly a
vampire cat. When we first brought her home, she zoomed straight into the dark and dusty
furnace room, and that’s the last we saw of her for three weeks. She would not be lured out no
matter how much food or treats we left. Every day we would search and call, sometimes catching
a glimpse, but she never used the same hiding place twice. We started calling her the Phantom
cat because she wasn’t really there. In an effort to help her feel more comfortable with us, I
started spending time in the cold furnace room too, sitting quietly and talking softly to her, even
though I couldn’t see her. She must have appreciated this, because one day she appeared AND
led me to buried treasure.
I was doing my nightly round of hunting the Phantom with a flashlight, feeling like the
Gestapo, when I spotted her in the farthest, darkest corner, hidden behind a stack of dusty boxes.
She looked at me, nuzzled one of the boxes, and looked at me again. Out of curiosity, I opened it,
and THERE were the keepsakes we’d put away last Christmas. We’d been looking for that box
for months! How it wound up in the deepest abyss of the house, I can’t understand. Had Phantom
cat not revealed the box; we literally would never have found it.
She disappeared again after that. So I kept sitting near or in the basement. One night, I
looked up and there she was, sitting like a statue on the edge of the furnace room. Not wanting to
spook the spook, I didn’t make eye contact but returned to reading. When I next looked up, she
was in exactly the same position, only two feet closer. I hadn’t heard or seen her move. Creepy.
Slowly, she began to interact more with us. Like any ghost, she has a gift for blending in
with her surroundings. Being gray and white herself, she naturally chose the only gray and white
blanket in the house to call her own. But I’m convinced that even if we put her against a bright
blue background, she could turn invisible if she wanted to.
Her next stunt was to really vanish. We have a fenced yard, but she escaped. For three
days, we hunted all over the neighborhood calling and calling. Finally, at 4:30 a.m. on the fourth
night, she materialized. I happened to be up to use the bathroom and looked outside. There was
an indistinct gray shadow on the steps. I called softly to the shadow. No response. But as I slowly
approached, the shadow became more Phantom shaped. She never moved, never made a sound,
but she allowed me to pick her up and bring her in. What she ate in those three days, I can’t
imagine. Maybe spirits don’t need much corporeal food.
She’s still as mysterious as ever. She emits the occasional mournful cry, phases in and out
of closets and other hiding places. Her favorite spot is behind the curtain, so we only see her
shadow. Often now, she comes out and pretends to be friendly and want cuddles, but what she
really wants is my throat. At first, I was too ticklish to let her get under my chin. But day after
day she would stare at me hypnotically, then go in for the kill, I mean, for a snuggle. Inevitably,
the day came when I took a deep breath and let her sniff my throat. Then lick it. Then lick it
harder, and harder and harder–I tried to move her to a different place on my neck, but no. She
zeroed in on that same spot with her industrial-grade sandpaper tongue. She didn’t quite get
through all the layers of skin, but she made excellent progress.
Now, I’m in her thrall and always do her bidding. She has trained me to present my throat
and offer my carotid artery to her whenever she wishes. If you see me looking pale and acting
oddly, with bite marks on my neck, you’ll know why.
vampire cat. When we first brought her home, she zoomed straight into the dark and dusty
furnace room, and that’s the last we saw of her for three weeks. She would not be lured out no
matter how much food or treats we left. Every day we would search and call, sometimes catching
a glimpse, but she never used the same hiding place twice. We started calling her the Phantom
cat because she wasn’t really there. In an effort to help her feel more comfortable with us, I
started spending time in the cold furnace room too, sitting quietly and talking softly to her, even
though I couldn’t see her. She must have appreciated this, because one day she appeared AND
led me to buried treasure.
I was doing my nightly round of hunting the Phantom with a flashlight, feeling like the
Gestapo, when I spotted her in the farthest, darkest corner, hidden behind a stack of dusty boxes.
She looked at me, nuzzled one of the boxes, and looked at me again. Out of curiosity, I opened it,
and THERE were the keepsakes we’d put away last Christmas. We’d been looking for that box
for months! How it wound up in the deepest abyss of the house, I can’t understand. Had Phantom
cat not revealed the box; we literally would never have found it.
She disappeared again after that. So I kept sitting near or in the basement. One night, I
looked up and there she was, sitting like a statue on the edge of the furnace room. Not wanting to
spook the spook, I didn’t make eye contact but returned to reading. When I next looked up, she
was in exactly the same position, only two feet closer. I hadn’t heard or seen her move. Creepy.
Slowly, she began to interact more with us. Like any ghost, she has a gift for blending in
with her surroundings. Being gray and white herself, she naturally chose the only gray and white
blanket in the house to call her own. But I’m convinced that even if we put her against a bright
blue background, she could turn invisible if she wanted to.
Her next stunt was to really vanish. We have a fenced yard, but she escaped. For three
days, we hunted all over the neighborhood calling and calling. Finally, at 4:30 a.m. on the fourth
night, she materialized. I happened to be up to use the bathroom and looked outside. There was
an indistinct gray shadow on the steps. I called softly to the shadow. No response. But as I slowly
approached, the shadow became more Phantom shaped. She never moved, never made a sound,
but she allowed me to pick her up and bring her in. What she ate in those three days, I can’t
imagine. Maybe spirits don’t need much corporeal food.
She’s still as mysterious as ever. She emits the occasional mournful cry, phases in and out
of closets and other hiding places. Her favorite spot is behind the curtain, so we only see her
shadow. Often now, she comes out and pretends to be friendly and want cuddles, but what she
really wants is my throat. At first, I was too ticklish to let her get under my chin. But day after
day she would stare at me hypnotically, then go in for the kill, I mean, for a snuggle. Inevitably,
the day came when I took a deep breath and let her sniff my throat. Then lick it. Then lick it
harder, and harder and harder–I tried to move her to a different place on my neck, but no. She
zeroed in on that same spot with her industrial-grade sandpaper tongue. She didn’t quite get
through all the layers of skin, but she made excellent progress.
Now, I’m in her thrall and always do her bidding. She has trained me to present my throat
and offer my carotid artery to her whenever she wishes. If you see me looking pale and acting
oddly, with bite marks on my neck, you’ll know why.