I found out that a gang of superstitious teens plotted to kill my black cats at Halloween, and had to do something to protect them.
I bathed my dark kittehs, which they were not happy about, then dipped them in temporary hair dye. Bright aubergine.
After tinting their fur purple, I dressed them in silver jackets and hats. Now futuristic, they were cuter than any superstition.
I took photos of my newly spiffed-up cats and shared them on social media, but was disappointed at how many hearts they got.
If people were still afraid of my cats, I had to make them more likeable. I uploaded videos of kitty playtime, YouTubeable jumps and purrs.
Days led up to Halloween and still my revamped-black cat videos hadn’t gone viral. I was going to have to do something more drastic.
I visited a crone, an experienced witch, for advice. I was told to sprinkle a special potion, pray, and fill a water pistol with fish oil.
My cats hated the sprinkles but purred as I petted, incanting for their lives. Surely that would work? My dad said, “Oil pistol.”
I appreciated the advice from the elderly witch, but decided to borrow from Hollywood, just in case, using special effects.
Finally Halloween came. My dad set out a bowl of candy to attract little goblins, while the cats were dressed to repel big ones.
In fading darkness, the cats’ outfits gleamed in pumpkin candlelight. Kids got bigger until only teen trolls in too-sexy costumes rang.
I heard shots at a distance. My cats heard them too, the scaredy-cats, and hid under a bed. They were no safer with dust bunnies.
A gang of youths approached, with rifles. “We know you’ve got black cats. That ends tonight.” I pulled out the magic potion.
I sprayed the menacing group with hoodoo potion to make cats loveable to all. They wiped it off their masks, spat, and scowled.
“Where are the cats?” one said. I knew I no longer had a choice and reached into the candy bowl for an oily water pistol. I fired.
I aimed for their eyes but little penetrated their masks. They shot back in the dark. I dropped to the floor and screamed.
Once they saw blood, they quickly freaked and ran off. The still-boys were no match for reality when it wasn’t on TV.
They were also not smart enough to realize I’d hidden special effects blood packs all over my body. I was covered in blood, but fake.
Sugary blood stained my manga costume but not my spirit. My cats came out to lick it off of me, already forgetting their trauma.
My mobile caught everything on video. I uploaded the evidence, and facial recognition nabbed them all. Busted and shamed, the gang broke up.
Late night comedians and celebrities on social media mocked the gang for the superstition. Black cats became popular adopted from shelters.