I’ve commented previously on how literally narrow-sighted humans are, and my musings on the subject came to mind again early this morning when Eliot arose to use the human litterbox (yes, it’s neither a box nor does it have litter in it, and the humans don’t even cover their excrement. It’s all too crazy. But I digress…). First, Eliot is, for all intents and purposes, blind in the dark, which made it more amusing when he viciously stubbed his toe on the bed post. Ah, I’m always amused at the sheer aural spectrum of curses uttered when humans are in pain. But his exclamations were completely lost on the other things he wasn’t seeing – and wouldn’t have seen even had the lights been on.

I speak of the ghosts in the house. I am led to understand, based on the cable shows Eliot and Sharon watch, that ghosts and spirits are controversial subjects in the human world to the point where they debate whether such entities even exist.

Aren’t humans cute?

Of course they exist. Though Eliot couldn’t see the female ghost next to him when he stubbed his toe, nor could he hear her whispered admonitions to be quiet, lest he wake her grandson. Which, naturally, he did. Now it’s a cacophony: Eliot hopping around cursing, the older ghost female castigating him for waking the baby, and Timmy’s cries from the adjacent room. Good thing I was up – how is a cat expected to sleep through this, I ask you?!

“Want me to take care of Timmy,” Sharon asked sleepily from the bed.

“No, ouch,” Eliot said (though he didn’t really say “ouch”. I’ll let you, dear reader, substitute the expletive of your choice), “I’ll, ouch, take care of him, ouch. I’m already, ouch, up.” Since I, too, was already up, I figured I would follow the stumbling Eliot. Besides, I didn’t want to miss the inevitable show.

You see, Sharon and Eliot’s house is not merely swirling with regular ghosts – practically every home is. No, their house is home to a particularly malevolent set of spirits. They’re exceptionally old and they don’t resemble humans in the way Timmy’s grandmother’s ghost looks like I suspect Timmy’s grandmother did in life. No, these shades take many forms, often changing shape. Most commonly they appear as a black blobs or wisps of dark smoke that can morph into whatever shape they choose.  And after baby Timmy came home they were immediately drawn to his bright, young, vulnerable aura (another thing humans debate the existence of. Cute, right?).

They feed on discomfort and sadness, so I knew there would be a showdown in the nursery.

Timmy’s Nana hurried past us down the hallway to Timmy’s room. I followed beyond Eliot. We passed the ghost of Sharon’s long dead wire terrier, Lacy, who stood and shook her ghost fur and watched us pass. I meowed at Spooky in the hallway. Eliot was his human before he was my human. I didn’t have to meow, as Spooky nodded at me as soon as he saw us, but I figured it would freak Eliot out a little.

“You’re not getting fed right now,” Pumpkin. Really? How did he interpret that meow for “I’m hungry.” Humans, right?

A rail-thin man with a goatee and burnt orange leisure suit, the ghost of Eliot’s deceased uncle Larry, stood guard in the doorway of the nursery, Timmy’s agitated cries ringing out in the darkness. “You’re here, Eliot. Good. I was worried you wouldn’t come in time,” he stood aside and let us pass. As I moved passed he bent down and stroked my back, “Good to see you too, Pumpkin.” I started to purr (I’m sure Eliot found my spontaneous purring disquieting. Excellent).

Eliot hurried to the crib and picked Timmy out, cradling him in his arms, rocking him. “Hey buddy,” he whispered to the yowling child. “Shh, shh, shh,” he whispered as he sat in the rocking chair next to the crib. Timmy’s Nana stood nearby, approvingly. Eliot couldn’t see her, nor could he see the smoky bat flutter past Uncle Larry’s swatting hands and into the room where it settled into a floating black cloud, waiting for reinforcements.

I felt them approaching – they give off an unnatural cold. “No, you will not get in that nursery,” Uncle Larry told the specters. They wouldn’t listen. They never did. Judging from the temperature drop, it felt like they were making an all-out assault. “Stay back!” Larry commanded. I could see him framed by the doorway, knees bent, fists up, ready for a fight. A leonine roar of a bark filled the hallway as Lucifer, Eliot’s dead great Dane bounded past Uncle Larry and down the hallway, engaging the oncoming wraiths with fearsome jaws. Lacy yapped and bounced in Lucifer’s wake, just as eager to be a part of the fray. Their charge turned to growls and snapping jaws. They were making a dent. But these demons were ancient and numerous… and determined and hungry. The dogs barks were intermixed with yips and cries as the foul beings inflicted their own toll.

Dear reader, as a cat I have a deep, ingrained hatred towards all dogs. The best that can be expected from felines is a grudging tolerance for all of dog-kind. And though I would never show it to the ghosts of Lucifer and Lacy, their unflagging assault earned my utmost respect. After a few more moments, their yips and whines faded – they were defeated. But they put up a hell of a fight, greatly reducing the oncoming undead foes.

“You asked for it!” Larry announced, a switchblade flicking open in his right hand. His arm blurred as he began stabbing and slashing at the advancing demons. Grunting and cursing with the exertion, Larry, too, put up a stout defense, and I watched as his thin blade caused numerous shades to disintegrate into nothingness, their ancient evil never to return. But Larry was one man, and the dark spirits coursed around him, enveloping him. He didn’t even have a chance to yell out as they smothered him and he fell limply to the floor. The remaining shades, and they were still numerous, filled the doorway. The temperature in the room felt icy.

Eliot stood with Timmy, whose cries were diminishing, and took a blanket out of the crib and wrapped Timmy in it and sat back down again, oblivious to the battle.

I stepped into the middle of the room, arched my back an hissed a warning to my foes: “You’re mine now, bitches.” Before I had a chance to pounce, a ferocious yowl erupted as Spooky flew through the smoky clouds in the doorway, his claws tearing fiends into disintegrating wisps as he twisted mid-air. The arc of his launch dropped him right in front of. He turned his head and nodded at me before launching himself back into the clouds. This time I joined his assault, my own claws flashing. Because I was still blood and bone, my attacks caused horrendous burning, their dark smoke vanishing as my claws made contact. Both Spooky and I continued our pouncing assaults and we succeeded in reducing their ranks considerably. But there were too many of them. Spooky dropped first. I made a two more assaults before they overwhelmed me and I fell to the carpet. They couldn’t kill me, but they had drained much of my energy and I lay paralyzed and helpless as they coursed into the room towards Timmy, who had finally fallen back to sleep in his father’s wholly unsuspecting, helpless arms.

The demon leading the charge never saw the rolling pin before it smashed down through the shade, dispelling it.  The second fiend didn’t spare a thought for its comrade as it charged in towards Timmy… and completely missed the hurled meat cleaver that split the shadow in half and continued spinning into the third, fourth and fifth ghoul, finally lodging itself into door frame with a thud. This, finally, got the odious hoard’s attention, momentarily halting their charge. Timmy’s grandmother stepped between their stalled advance and Timmy in his father’s arms. Her outstretched arms held ten-inch-long knitting needles. She didn’t make any pronouncements or any noise at all. Upon seeing her, the evil ghosts gathered strength and then surged at her all at once.

You might have gathered I don’t have a particularly high opinion about humans. It’s true. But watching Timmy’s grandmother can only be described as awesome. Her needles blurred as the demons flew at her. Her arms swung at impossible speeds, slicing blobs and clouds, and smoky orbs with hyper-efficient grace. The shades kept coming, their ancient evil unrelenting. But Timmy’s grandmother met their overwhelming numbers with her unflagging assault, her face unperturbed as she delivered unimaginable maternal ferocity.

From my position I could see their numbers thin, then start to scatter only to be caught by the reach of her knitting needles, obliterating them. A few. Then a couple. Then just one that she spun, gathered both needles in one hand and plunged their tip straight down through the final shade. It was an unbelievably boss move, if I may say so.

Eliot stood up with the now-sleeping Timmy and carefully placed him in crib, covering him with the blanket. Timmy let out a content coo and settled into the blanket peacefully. Eliot sighed a peaceful sigh, then turned and walked across the former battlefield. “Are you going to sleep right there in the doorway, Pumpkin?” I experimentally flexed a paw. It moved. Without the shades, I regained some of my strength and I slowly got to my paws and followed Eliot back into the hallway.

Spooky regained his footing, unsteadily. As Eliot and I moved towards their bedroom I could hear Lacy and Lucifer both awkwardly trying to stand – both exceptionally weak, but still able to move. Without the evil in the house, they would regain their full strength by morning.

“Nice job, Pumpkin,” Larry said from the side of the hallway. “Don’t mind me. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Eliot didn’t stub his toe a second time – even humans learn once in a while. I waited for him to settle in and spoon Sharon before I leapt onto the bed and curled up between them.

“Seriously, Pumpkin? Right there?” Eliot asked with a yawn.

You’re goddamn right, I thought, I earned this spot.