Ghost cat

When we got back from a recent road trip, there was a dead bat at the foot of the basement stairs. I’d never seen a bat up close like that. Alive, the darting flight path left no space for study, and primal fears kept me jumpy to a useless degree. The dexamethasone is no help, either, when it comes to jumpiness. This bat was going nowhere, however. It lay on its back, wings drawn up tight on either side, teeth tiny but brilliant in the light. The house is old--90 years or so--but pretty tight. Hard to say how the bat got in.

I bagged it and sent it out to the trash, not wanting to risk exposure to some interesting bat disease. As I came back into the kitchen, it occurred to me that not very long ago (last summer?) we’d returned from a trip to find a mouse carcass in the same place. It’s that location that’s interesting. Not some dank corner (trust me, there are many), but out in the light of day, right where it will be spotted as soon as you come home and are looking to see if there was any wine left before you went away. 

Two deaths, small furry animals left at the foot of the steps. You can see where I’m going with this. It almost has to be a cat. Of course we don’t have one--haven’t had one since Eddy died 26 years ago.

I’m not against the idea of a ghost cat. Especially if it actually catches mice (lay off the bats, though--we’re having some issues with those). Our nephew Sam has a ghost cat, sort of. Actually it’s a real cat that lives in their basement and only surfaces when their children go to bed. Sightings are infrequent, to the point that neither Liz nor I can remember its name. It doesn't seem to possess any supernatural powers.

Not the ghost cat, probably.

Ghosts have other uses besides catching mice. I’m rereading an old Anthropology classic (Mary Douglas’ Purity and Danger, for anyone who cares), which has helped remind me that ghosts often serve as intermediaries not so much between the spirit world and the physcial world, but between what actually happens, for better or worse, and what we think should happen. Or between what we can explain and control, and what we can’t. Ghosts, witchcraft, sorcery--they take up the explanatory slack, relieve you of some personal responsibility, and sometimes can give you a plan of action, or inaction.

Not so much in this case, I guess. I’d like to assign responsibility to the ghost cat, but in truth should probably try to figure out how the bats are getting in. Liz found another ex-bat just around the corner, probably a bit older than the first, and the night before last we were watching TV downstairs when we received a visit from a very much alive (and presumably non-ghostly) bat. Bats have enough problems without our basement becoming a bat death trap.