If It’s On A Shelf, Knock It Off…

by Jeff Baker

Okay,” Zane said tossing his jacket on the couch just inside the front door. “You think the house is haunted? You always say your house is haunted. What’s the reason for calling me over?”

Del sighed. “I think I know what’s going on.”

“What?” Zane asked. “Ghosts?”

“Specific ghosts,” Del said. “Or ghost.” He sighed again, then took a deep breath.

“I think my ghost is a cat.”

Zane was surprised he didn’t laugh. But he and Del had been through a lot since dating ten years ago and then deciding to be “just friends.”

“A cat?” Zane asked.

“Look at the evidence,” Del said. “Little things move around when I’m not here. Little things get knocked off the shelf or counter. Little things disappear…”

“Little things?” Zane said, trying not to sound skeptical.

“Yeah,” Del said. “Little things. The kind of things a cat could bat around or carry in its mouth.”

“Could something have gotten into the house? A stray cat or maybe a raccoon?” Zane asked.

Del shook his head. “House is sealed tight. Even the attic. I checked. And raccoons would have torn up the place.”

Del walked over to the table and picked up several small items.

“Look at these,” Del said. “I pulled them out from under the couch this afternoon.”

The items included a wooden spool, a small Christmas ornament, a sock and a small ball made of some fuzzy material. Del held up the ball.

“This is a cat toy. I don’t have a cat. And you and the guys helped me move that couch in here six months ago. There was nothing under it. And I cleaned this house. Nothing on the floors. Nothing in the closets.” Del smiled. “Not even me.”

Del rolled the sock up and tossed it into the empty laundry basket on the other side of the room.

Zane smiled. Del was working his behind off to pay for this nine hundred-foot vintage sixties suburban house with an actual attic and basement. Nothing fancy but it was home.

“You know, I read something about poltergeists once,” Zane said. “They may be a manifestation of someone’s emotional state. Mind working overtime. Pent-up-adolescent angst. Mind-over-matter.”

“I’m hardly an adolescent,” Del said.

“Yeah, but you may have some adolescent emotions,” Zane said. walking towards the desk where Del had his computer. “And maybe you…hey…”

Zane was staring down at the laundry basket. He gestured at Del and signaled for him to be quiet. Del walked over.

They stared.

Curled in the laundry basket was a cat. A tortoiseshell cat, not big, not flashy, just a cat.

A cat they hadn’t seen come into the room or crawl into the basket.

A cat that vanished as they watched.

“A manifestation…” Del said.

“Yeah,” Zane said. “A furry manifestation.”

“You know,” Del said. “This house gets awfully quiet sometimes. I could use someone here to make it warm, like a cat. Or maybe…”

He suddenly kissed Zane.

“Haven’t done that in a few years…” Zane said.

“We could talk?” Del said.

“Yeah.” Zane said.

For just a moment there was the sound of a soft, silent purr.

—end—