Through the Eyes of Ghost

I was awoken suddenly by Ghost, my cat, springboarding himself off my arm. I was lying on my right side in bed. The moon glowed through the windows as Ghost circled back and shoved his face into mine. I scratched his cheeks as he purred loudly, ensuring I was not in line with his drool that tends to fall when he’s in an intense purring zone. He curled his body around and plopped next to me, the butt end of his body leaning against the top of my head.

My thoughts sleepily drifted back to the day I moved into my place. I had just walked up the stairs, for the umpteenth time, carrying the last of my books to the guest bedroom. I remember thinking someday I would have a library with a rolling ladder and maybe an elevator for my two-story dream home.

I went into my room and sat on the bed taking in the surroundings of my new townhome; the dark red curtains slightly flowing in and out from the breeze that seemed to whisper hello through the opened windows, the Brian Viveros numbered print hung up on the wall above the dresser and opposite the bed and a black and white photograph of a cow skull I took and printed years ago on the wall next to my bed.

I felt proud that I had the courage to move 5 hours away from home over state lines despite a friend doubting I would make the move and a few other friends becoming silent on the big change I was about to make. I was also nervous that I had yet to tell my family I had moved out of our home state. Sometimes, we take drastic measures to change an environment that claims to love us but never makes the time to show us. A month after settling in, I mailed letters to my parents, sister, and brother-in-law that began with “Surprise! I moved!” One parent couldn’t believe I decided to move out of state. They asked if I had “a man hiding in a closet.” It was another expressed doubt in my abilities. An offense of many that I will later learn confined my life to an almost standstill existence. The rest of the family’s opinions on my sudden departure were met in silence.

The friends from my past are no longer in my life. Some friends faded away, and some I chose to fade from. Stepping outside your perceived character will always show you who is authentic and who isn’t, or maybe it’s just time to grow.

As for my family; well, it’s been 11 years since moving and they have never come to visit me. The excuses I heard back home from my parents living 20 minutes from my last apartment, and the excuses from my sister who lived near me for a time, then, three hours away after she got married are solid excuses that will live on in their minds forever. I naively thought the shock of being able to move without them knowing, considering how closely we lived to each other, would show them how uninvolved they were in my life.

Turns out you can’t change people no matter how hard you try. It is emotionally complicated and confusing to need a family that understands what it means to be “family-oriented.”

Am I the problem? No. The black sheep is never the problem. But, unknown to me on the first night of my new place, a little creature was on his way to make life a little more interesting. Thank God, because in a few hours of my first night alone in my townhome, I’m about to see something I’ve never experienced before.

I sat on the bed scrolling through the maps app looking for a Chinese restaurant nearby. The air was crisp and rain was on the way. I had some food in the fridge, but craved comfort food for the first night here. I changed clothes and shut the windows as it started to rain once the sun had set. I grabbed my jacket and hesitated, realizing I did not know anyone here and was about to drive in cascading rainfall. “Oh, don’t drive at night! It’s too dangerous!” My mother’s recorded words played loudly in my head. The urge for Americanized Chinese food won. It was time to celebrate and have a little familiarity during this new change in my life.

Feeling full and tranquil from the best sesame seed chicken, fried rice, and an egg roll, I slipped into bed. I ached from carrying piles of books upstairs and unpacking and rearranging my things in this new environment. I realized I hadn’t cried since leaving my home state. I wasn’t scared or nervous, more excitingly nervous about my future. This was one of the reasons why I kept the move a secret from my family. I needed to know if I was making the right decision for myself; for, all my choices in my life were routinely met with some expression of “no.”

I lay on my right side staring at the glow from the street lamp that seeped through the edges of the curtains and cast a light upon my bedroom in a false moonlight. The rain softly fell against the window, creating a mesmerizing rhythm that charmed my eyes to sleep.

My body jolted from a quiet slumber forcing my eyes open. I froze as a silhouette of a body in a hunched-over position darted past the windows. I adjusted my glasses and lay still, every muscle tense and frozen, listening. I held my breath. I heard nothing. Lifting my head to look around the room, I saw nothing. It was quiet and comfortable. Not a thing felt off or was out of place in the room. The rain had stopped, and it was still dark outside. I waited for a car to come down the street. Maybe it was a shadow from headlights? A car passed by and a bright line of light moved across the walls. No shadow. I waited for another vehicle to drive by from the opposite direction. Again, no shadow. Removing my glasses, I laid down and told myself, ‘He was just passing through.’ I never saw the black shadow again.

A few months later, I opened the back door to find a cute, small tuxedo-black feral cat that walked right into my home and life. His name is Ghost. One day, he walked in with a limp, and I called a vet immediately and decided Ghost had a new home. Nine months later, the vet told me after Ghost had his surgery to remove the pin that helped fuse the fractured elbow bone of his right front limb that if I hadn’t taken him in, Ghost would not have made it. If it wasn’t for this cute, weird, cat who loves to run around like a bat out of hell, I’m not sure I would have made it. Pets are like that, aren’t they? They have this ability to keep us mentally afloat, provide comedy, and even warn us of things we don’t see coming. It seems foolish to call them pets when many of us see them as extended family members and would kill anyone who would harm them. I’m not just talking about cats. All animals are amazing and should be respected.

One night (everything happens at night), while asleep I heard a loud metal crack. It also sounded like glass had broken, and I thought whatever broke was downstairs. I got up fast fearing Ghost had knocked over a metal container that held silver scrap or the glass jar I carefully protected that held the pickle solution, a mild acid used to remove fire scale from the jewelry I made. I made my way to the bedroom door, my eyes not yet adjusted, and turned on the light. Next to my left foot was Ghost, sitting attentively, looking out into the hallway. Thankful I hadn’t stepped on him or tripped, I realized I had not heard him bound up the stairs. He didn’t move or look at me. He just stared in the direction of the metal-tiered bookcase I have in the corner of the hall just at the top of the stairs. I walked over and found the crystal figurine of two seahorses had split apart from one another, a gift from my mother I cherished. A few seashells had toppled over, and a copper decorative plate had fallen out of its plate holder. I looked to see if any of the smaller books had fallen off behind the shelving system. Instead, I found the battery-operated candlestick that was in a crystal votive candle holder (slightly tacky, I know) that sat on the second shelf from the top under the bookcase. Ghost was now at my side and watching me straighten some of the books and seashells on the shelves. I was talking to him wondering if he knew what caused that. He just watched in silence. Ghost is pretty quiet, hence the name. He has startled me a few times appearing out of nowhere and is only verbal when I do dishes, when another feral cat roams around the property, or in the morning when he believes it is time for me to get up and out of bed.

“She talks a lot. The burst of light shot through the metal thing and went into the ceiling. It’s gone,” Ghost said telepathically, unsuccessfully.

At this point, I had experienced an earthquake where I live. The metal decorative C-shaped table against the wall in my bedroom will tap against the wall before the entire upstairs floor shakes violently during a small earthquake. It’s unnerving and bizarre when it happens, and I know we did not have an earthquake this night.

“Why is she hitting the metal thing? Am I supposed to jump at the candlestick she’s throwing? That’s not my toy. Come on human let’s play with my mouse. It’s quite chewed up by the way. I need a new mouse,” Ghost said telepathically, unsuccessfully.

I hit the bookshelf in several places, and none of the books or seashells toppled over or moved slightly. I tossed the plastic candlestick several times to the floor, to see where it would land. Not once did it bounce back to under the bookshelf. Ghost continued to watch patiently as I tried to debunk the strange situation. So, what shook the tiered metal bookshelf in the hallway that night? I was a little on guard for the next few nights, but everything was normal. Even Ghost acted normal.

A couple of years later, I noticed Ghost wasn’t going to his window seat in the guest bedroom at night. It was summertime, and that was his norm to watch the nightly going-on and sleep in the window until about 3 or 4 a.m., then, he’d walk down the hall and into my room to jump onto my bed and walk the tiny space left on the pillow between the top of my head and wall. He would knead his favorite red blanket, slowly circle himself around, and curl up next to me.

So, most nights after we played with his toys and I’d get ready for bed, he’d trot off to his lookout spot. There are a lot of feral cats in the area. Some nights, off in the distance you can hear coyotes howling like hyenas when they celebrate a kill, a frightening sound I will never get used to. One night, a woman frantically screamed running in and out of her townhome across the street. Cops arrived immediately after she ran inside, and a man ran from behind this woman’s home towards the townhomes in my section. He ran past the outside of my home and jumped the back fence separating the townhouses that lined the street and a commercial property. This type of event is rare but I can understand why Ghost loves to sit by the window.

On this night, after Ghost ran around and tossed himself on the floor attacking a squeaky mouse he didn’t have to hunt, he sat attentively at my bedroom doorway, looking down the dark hall into the guest bedroom. Realizing this was the third night in a row that he had done this and not gone into the guest bedroom, I walked over to him and asked what he was looking at. Ghost stared fixedly down the hall into the other bedroom and remained silent. I admit, I got nervous as I stared intently down the dim-lit hall leading into the dark room. Something was off. I talked to Ghost again. “What are you looking at?” Ghost stayed seated and did not look at me or meow.

“The alien. Don’t you see it?” Ghost said telepathically, unsuccessfully.

I looked into the room from my bedroom doorway. I could faintly see my iron bookshelf that held more of my books and some stuff I had on the floor. I looked for a shadow, movement, or maybe a bug flying around, but Ghost didn’t move his head as if he were tracking a bug. His bright yellow eyes were fixed straight ahead, not on the carpet near the door or the top of the door frame. He gazed at the open-aired space of the guest bedroom door.

I’ve seen enough ghost hunter shows or mediums explain one should always let a spirit or entity know that this is our house and we are in control. So, I indirectly sent a message. I looked at Ghost and said, “You know that is your room. If someone is there and they are nice, you can say hello, but let them know it’s your room and ask them to leave if you want them to. If they are bad, then they need to leave.” Ghost’s gaze remained fixed.

“I see. Yes, I will. You can stay til tomorrow. You too,” said Ghost.

I went back to my room, and Ghost followed me. The next night, after our nightly routine of play where I would throw the mouse and he would run past it, so I would have to retrieve it, Ghost went into the guest bedroom to gaze out into the night.

Recently, Ghost chased some feathers attached to a wand I flittered around him. It was late at night. He was jumping in the air, darting around after it. I had said something to him, and at that moment, I heard what sounded like an electrical pop but far away and closed in, similar to how a pop would sound in a tunnel. At the same time, Ghost whipped his body around to face the end of my bed. He didn’t hiss or growl but was on high alert and scared with his tail fluffed out. At that moment, I knew he had heard the same sound I did and that it startled him. He kept his gaze on something. He was staring at something or someone sitting at the end of my bed. Ghost crept slowly to the edge of the bed, stretching his head forward like cats do when they are unsure of something. He started to sniff at what or whoever was sitting on the edge of my bed. During all this, I maundered at Ghost, who is quite good at ignoring me. I didn’t feel anything negative came through, but the fact that Ghost and I heard what sounded like an electrical pop followed by a singed-sounding fizzle seemingly at the end of a long tunnel freaked me the hell out. Something is sitting on the edge of my bed in my bedroom! I have to admit I regret my next action, but I didn’t want anything or anyone to stay. “Is it a bug? A spider?”

“I don’t know what this is. It’s smiling at me but looks strange,” Ghost said telepathically, unsuccessfully.

I frantically lifted the comforter on the bed and tousled it. I took the toy wand with hanging feathers and frantically waved it in the air just above the bed. Ghost’s gaze broke, and his tail’s fur slowly unfluffed back to normal. He acted like nothing had happened. I slept in my bed that night. I was a little nervous but trusted my initial feeling that the visitor was not evil or mischievous. If Ghost was not afraid to approach whatever came through in that moment, I shouldn’t fear it either.

There have been a few other supernatural situations, like tiny, clustered, sparkly lights that appeared briefly and then faded away. There are times when Ghost will be downstairs in the living area and watch something intently move through the air. I always look when I catch him doing this. Is it a bug? Sometimes. Did a bird get trapped in the subfloor like the previous winter? No.

Is my home haunted? I don’t think so, but strange things have happened and I’m thankful Ghost came into my life as a little guardian. All is good.

P.S. I often replace Ghost’s favorite chewed-up mouse toy.