Halloween Cat

There was a soybean farmer in the midwest whose farm cat had a litter of kittens. The farmer was superstitious and became wary of a tiny black kitten who was born as part of the litter. The farmer heard the wind blow at night and thought the kitten was conjuring evil spirits. When aphids set upon his soybean harvest, the farmer was sure the black kitten had done black majick on the beans. His cousin told him how he'd gotten rid of his own black kittens in the past: Next time you drive your truck to the general store for flour and barley, take the kitten with you, and leave it in the wood pile outside the general store. So, the farmer did exactly this. The October winds picked up faster and harsher than usual, cooling the region unseasonably, and as more and more townsfolk purchased firewood brought into the general store by the countrymen, the kitten was running out of logs under which to hide. The owner of the general store was a lonely, slouched-over hag aged thirty-one who had some superstitions herself-- she was certain that the fires lit inside turnips and pumpkins must not wait until Halloween night, but must be lit upon the Autumn equinox instead to make sure no spirits got too close to the town before Halloween. By then, it could be too late! She carved the first pumpkin on the night of the equinox and set it on the porch of the general store next to the little pile of remaining firewood. When the baker purchased the last of the wood, there were no more logs under which for the kitten to hide. The kitten snuffed out the candle inside the pumpkin with a flick of its tail and hopped inside the hollowed pumpkin. The next morning, the hag grumbled her way towards the general store, keys jangling beneath her patched-up old robes of plum shades. She noticed the candle inside the pumpkin no longer burned, and set her mind to light it again upon closing the store that night. The kitten stayed inside the pumpkin all day long, watching shoppers come and go, and when the last one was gone, the hag lifted the pumpkin's top intending to light the candle. Her eyes, wide in shock, met with the golden-green eyes of the kitten. She gasped! "My pumpkin majick has worked better than expected!" You see, the hag's superstitions were much different than the farmer's: To her, cats were not a sign of bad luck or evil spirits, rather, they were energetic protectors against such dark forces. She scooped the kitten from the pumpkin and swaddled it within her plum robes to make sure no townsfolk saw her new companion, lest any of them bear ill will towards the poor creature. She hid it in the attic of her general store, feeding it canned fish and warm curd. There in the attic the kitten lived until it was a cat, and there it lives to this day, protecting the town from dark forces by purring up a mystical field of charmed energy.