In the summer of 2018, when I met my realtor at the circa 1922 cottage I was considering for my next home, despite its run-down condition, I was struck by its enchanted quality. It was alive with positive vibes. I felt welcomed by an unseen greeting committee. I signed the lease, excited about a new beginning living in a vintage cottage.
After moving in with Bobcat and Lexington, often, while sitting on the sofa at night reading, I would look over my shoulder thinking I saw one of the cats sauntering by; yet, seconds later would glance into the bedroom to see both cats sound asleep.
One late afternoon I was sitting at my desk and saw movement from my peripheral vision coming from the bookcase next to the French doors. I turned to see a mouse scurrying from the bookcase to underneath the hutch. It was quick and almost looked like a shadow, but well defined. I thought I imagined it when Bobcat came bolting from the bedroom making a beeline for the hutch. He was trying to get under it, going from one side to the next, fervently meowing. I opened the front door in an attempt to get the mouse out of the house. As I tried to coax my enthusiastic cat away from the hutch so the mouse could run outside—Bobcat came out from the side of the hutch and nonchalantly sashayed back into the bedroom. And the mouse was nowhere to be found.
About a year ago I was awoken at 2:00 a.m. by the sound of labored breathing coming from the living room. I turned on the bedside table lamp, cautiously got up and went into the direction of the sound with Samantha by my side. The sound shifted from the entryway to the sofa. Samantha poked her head under the sofa as if trying to figure out where it was coming from. I walked around the sofa then went back to the entryway with Samantha shadowing me. I concluded that the sound was a suffering animal under the house. I said a prayer for it then went back to bed. I awoke again, thinking it was morning because light was filtering from the living room into my bedroom, yet it was 4:00 a.m. Perplexed, I went into the living room to find a set of lights had been turned on—lights that I never use because they are too bright. I got goose bumps and wondered if the noise we heard was actually something otherworldly.
Later that morning, I looked under the house to find no animal. Even if it had gotten out alive, the crawl space where it would have been was not in the same location of the sound, which emanated from the location of the foundation. I started to believe that the enchanted cottage was a refuge for lost souls.
Lately, the cottage has been devoid of phantom mice and ghostly cats. And I’ve not awoken to spooky sounds and lights with a mind of their own.
Maybe the spirits of Bobcat and Lexington are keeping the spooks away.