Little ghosts and goblins coming to the door can be frightening for a cat. I asked my senior cat, Stella, if she was apprehensive about the holiday.
Hey Stella, I hope you don’t get scared this Halloween. I know how awful it was for you last year.
What do you mean? I had a great Halloween.
You did? Whenever trick-or-treaters came to the door you hissed and growled. And sometimes you lunged.
Quite so. Ah, such lunges.
And you call that a great Halloween?
I call that a GLORIOUS Halloween.
Hissing at children is glorious?
You really don’t know what constitutes a good time for a cat, do you?
I figured sleeping all day was your good time.
You don’t know what it’s like to be a top-shelf predator living in a classless suburban hovel. It felt good to have some real danger around here.
I would hardly call trick-or — wait, what do you mean “classless suburban hovel”?
I felt so alive, saving you from a savage death.
Saving me?
Hey, you saw those monsters. I was the only thing keeping them from tearing you apart.
Stella, those were kids in costumes.
Oh, come on. That bloody goblin had a knife sticking out of his head. You can’t fake that.
You most certainly can.
What about all the zombies grabbing at us?
They were grabbing at our candy.
So you’re saying a crazy person who wraps himself in toilet paper has good intentions?
Those were bandages. That was a mummy.
What about the clown dwarf spouting demon gibberish? He was pure evil.
He was Billy from next door. He’s 4.
I’ve always hated Billy.
How about we keep you in the back bedroom this year?
Not on your life. I’ve got plans this year.
Plans?
We play defense too much. Placating the hordes with candy. This year we go on the attack.
Please explain what you mean by the attack.
I’m still putting that together.
Stella, we can’t hurt our trick-or-treaters.
But they’re robbing our candy! That’s MY candy!
Giving away candy is the point of Halloween.
I’m bound by the law of the jungle, my friend.
Jungle? I thought we lived in a “classless suburban hovel”?
Fair point. I’ll submit to the law of the apocalyptic suburban wasteland, as befitting the appearance of your front yard.
Hey, it’s called “back-to-nature” landscaping! It was just in the New York Times Style section.
So you’re doing to our yard what you do to their crossword. Got it.
Hey, their crossword is really hard, it’s like the premier —
Stop talking about their crossword puzzle for once in your life!
Fine. Jeez.
So, I’m thinking we start by weaponizing the doorbell and then —
Enough, Stella. We’re going to pass out candy and you’re going to be nice.
But they’re trespassers! Next thing you’re going to tell me I can’t attack the mail carrier.
I TELL YOU THAT EVERY DAY!
Fine, relax. I’m just looking out for you.
I know, but it’s time to accept we have mail service. And trick-or-treaters.
OK, I do.
Good.
So we just let everyone waltz up the front porch like they own the —
BACK BEDROOM!
