I was never a cat person.

Growing up we had a pet dog.

So by default that made us dog people.

Plus my mom loathed cats.

It didn’t help that two of the neighborhood tomcats were always shitting in my mom’s garden beds and tearing up her recently-planted perrinials.

Folks always say cats have this sixth sense; it is common knowledge that animals can sense your fear. It seemed like these two cats in the neighborhood could sense that they made my mother’s skin crawl. Therefore, it appeared that it was their destiny to do whatever it took to disturb my mother.

As a young kid, this was disconcerning to say the least.

Years past.

I would encounter many “cool” cats that my friends had as pets but I still kept my distance from them.

My dad always said pets were a bad idea. Because you would get emotionally detached to them and then they would die. My dad is a realist. Haha.

But then one day, while living in Los Angeles, I warmed up to one cat. And that cat, Ginger, became the family pet. She was a rescue, from the hard streets of an LA suburb, yet was a princess at heart. She lived a long life with us; she lived through a relocation from California to North Carolina and through the birth of my two kids.

She also managed to put up with two sets of in-laws who were dog people and couldn’t give a rat’s ass about her or her feline lifestyle.

So be it. It didn’t seem to bother her.

Like most pets (my father’s words ringing true) she passed away and it was an emotional moment for me.

Shortly thereafter, I got seperated and divorced and found myself living the apartment life. And one night, hanging with my boys watching Animal Planet, I felt her prescence in my place. I felt like she was prancing around the place in the middle of the night as she was wont to do.

It was my first ghost kitty experience.

And it wasn’t scary or creepy but rather comforting.

Two days ago, my youngest son said he saw the shadow of her head and two glowing eyes by my bed.

But this summer I had moved (getting robbed will make you do that, duh).

“I think she followed us over here to the new place,” he said.

Then we talked about Gingerisms and all the found memories we had of her as we laid in bed talking through darkened doorways like The Waltons.

Then, in the middle of the night, I felt it.

I felt the sensation of a her walking across my duvet cover, circling for a spot before she bed down. I slowly looked up but saw nothing. I whispered out, “Miss you girl. You are always welcome here,” and then laid my head back down on the pillow.