My Cat Stole a Witch’s Hair Today

Life gets crazy when you live with furry friends

It was a busy afternoon. My family started decorating for Christmas last week, but we didn’t finish. The weekend was coming to an end, so we decided to work on the rest of our decorations today.

It was also time to put away the Halloween decorations that had been sitting in my living room for days. And by days, I mean weeks. I hate taking down holiday decorations. As much as I hate admitting this, I once kept my Christmas tree up until spring.

But I digress.

Anyway, decorating for Christmas can get exhausting, so I decided to rest for a bit. I cranked up some Christmas songs and sprawled out on the sofa, laughing as my cat dragged a furry gray thing around the house.

“Where’d you get that, Cloudy?” I asked my cat. He ignored me, of course.

Cloudy continued batting the soft gray piece of fabric across the living room. I squinted, trying to figure out what it was. One of the kids’ old stuffed animals, maybe? Or perhaps my cat had found an old scarf or a piece of a baby blanket?

Stretching, I got up from the couch and walked toward Cloudy. He gave me a dirty look and punted his new toy into the Christmas tree. I grabbed the fluffy blob from the branches, examining its gray strands carefully.

It was hair. My feline friend was knocking a wig around our living room, but where did he get it? I paced around the house, looking everywhere until it finally hit me.

Cloudy had stolen our beloved witch’s hair.

When I saw the bald witch sitting on my chair, I laughed until I cried. Gently, I placed the gray wig back on her head and replaced her Halloween hat.

Cloudy was not impressed. He jumped on the chair, ready to reclaim his toy.

I couldn’t let him attack the witch again, so I carried her into my closet. She was an unexpected find at an event my family attended earlier this year, and I had to protect her. She wasn’t just another Halloween decoration. There was a story behind this smiling witch.

We were at an outdoor market similar to a yard sale. My sons found some free Halloween decorations and grabbed a large box.

“Mom, we have to get this!” they pleaded.

“Boys, we don’t need any Halloween decorations. Put it back.”

“Please, mom? We really need it!”

Sighing, I told my kids to grab the box and bring it home. I had no clue what was inside, but I didn’t really care. I was tired and wanted to leave.

I forgot about the box until later that day when my son called me into his room. “You have to see what was in the box!” he yelled, promising that I’d love it.

I walked into his room and started crying. A giant witch was sitting on his desk chair — the same witch I had been obsessed with as a little girl.

My childhood was traumatic, but I loved playing with that witch. Watching her sway back and forth was my escape as a kid. After plugging her into a nearby outlet, I could drown out my parents’ yelling and escape into a Halloween-inspired daydream.

That witch was my childhood protector, at least in my own mind. I couldn’t believe that nearly 30 years later, she was part of my family again.

I also couldn’t believe that Cloudy had snatched off her wig and spent the afternoon playing with it. It made me laugh, but I also wanted to protect the witch the same way she protected me as a child.

The witch is in my closet now, but she’ll return to the living room next fall — on a shelf where my cat can’t reach her.

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