There’s a nearby cemetery filled with cats. I understand why they live here. Cemeteries are quiet, safe, and restful places. While outdoor cats are sometimes harassed by adults and chased by children, everyone’s on their best behavior in a cemetery.
Cemetery cats have a job, too, which I witnessed firsthand last autumn. What’s that job? Let me explain by telling a story about my visit to the cemetery.
I played hide and seek with the cats for thirty minutes, offering them treats and pets when they let me.
After that, I laid down “just for a minute.” It was an unusually hot autumn day, and I was tired from the long, mostly uphill bicycle ride from my apartment.
When I woke, the sun had fallen below the horizon. A few cicadas chirped, but otherwise, silence filled the cemetery. Pitch black covered everything.
I thought about going back to sleep, but I didn’t have a sleeping bag or blanket, and a caretaker might have spotted me, so a quick calculation of the pluses versus the minuses of spending the night told me I should head home.
I felt something brush against my cheek. A spider? I slapped my face frantically, hoping to get rid of whatever that was before it bit me.
Any uncertainty about sleeping in the cemetery instantly evaporated.
A cloud that had been blocking the moon drifted east, finally letting me see a little. I blinked a few times to adjust to the demi-light.
A beautiful calico cat stood a half-meter away, staring my way. But it wasn’t staring at me; it was looking behind me.
I saw a creature reflected in the cat’s eyes—a skeleton with dripping, pink flesh hanging loosely on its bones, the detritus of a human being. The thing’s teeth shone brightly, maybe ten times brighter than the moon, as if it was feasting off of the moonlight. Its jaw snapped open and shut.
Through the reflection, I watched the thing lurch my way, and I could see intent in the empty orbs where its eyes had once been.
It shuffled forward.
The cat stood its ground and extended its claws.
Fear froze me. My throat tightened, and I could not breathe. I wobbled as my brain quickly ran low on oxygen.
The dead thing flexed its bony fingers and reached forward. A wave of ice-cold air encapsulated me.
A second before the corpse grabbed me and pulled me down with it into the grave—I was sure that was its plan—the cat arched its back, hissed, and bellowed notes so loud and ominous it could scare the dead. It did scare the dead. I spun around as the monster fell to its knees, scrambled across the gravestones, and disappeared into its tomb.
Puffs of dirt exploded up and then settled back onto the grave.
I breathed again and jumped on my bike, breaking the speed limit on my ride home.
Now, do you understand why cats roam in cemeteries? Their job is to keep ghosts and spirits from haunting and harming the living. Cats defend our realm from entities that try to cross the boundary between eternal darkness and humanity.
When you see a cat in a cemetery, thank it. Give it a treat and a pet, too.
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Love this!
What a suspenseful story! Lucky for you, the cats were on your side. I doubt they would have done the same for everyone.