The Creepy Cat Chateau

I came from a family rich with folk tales and bizarre ancestral events. The stories range from Scottish cattle thieves to hateful Cherokee homicidal grandmothers, and you can ride it all the way down to two brothers on military duty in France bringing in the end of the war with binge drinking and a stolen tank gun. There's so much more, but I'd sit here for days trying to figure out how to summarize things that just can't be properly shortened. And it's all incredibly true. I have come to believe the most honest stories are indeed the weirdest.

There is one woman who still graces our beautiful land, and she spends her time in a dilapidated wreck of a farmhouse she gave up to over a hundred feral cats. I can't remember how she's related to me, because none of us can recall the customary family categories anymore. What I thought was an aunt turned out to be a second cousin, and maybe that great grandfather was really someone's great uncle, and wasn't my great aunt really my cousin's sister? I gave up on that nonsense a long time ago. But on to the Cat Chateau...

I used to be an avid cat lover until I moved back down and into the same fields of green with the horror cats. Some of them resemble furry vultures with humps on their backs. Some of them are half blind. One hops like a rabbit on three legs. They all sit in various places on the remains of the haunted structure. And I say haunted, because one of my great greats fell down the narrow stairs in the place years ago and broke his neck. He was such a big, strong red headed man that he got up after his neck was cracked, walked into the bedroom, and only then decided to lay down and die. You can hear a faint moan when the sun sets and if you sit real still next to that old window.

A large cat with a big purple eye stares from the porch with its soured bedding blankets hanging from the roof. The creepy cats are all fed twice daily and she even brings fresh water to a mud puddle that sits in the middle of the driveway. "Why do you do that?" I asked one morning. And in the darkest, slowest southern drawl you'll ever hear, she said, "It's gonna dry up, and look at all them tadpoles. They'll die." I've often thought I'd like to venture into her dark head and see all the illogical oddities shining in that abnormal brain space. I'll bet it's like a mysterious labyrinth with Christmas lights in there. She once got very emotional and upset because my uncle was smoking a cigarette close to the fish tank. She was certain the smoke would kill the fish.

I will honestly say I'm a little disturbed by her cats. I believe they watch me with serial killer intentions running through their little pea brains. There are only a few that even appear as normal beasts anymore. They've taken over the old house and the yard, and the barn that's falling to the ground on the other side. I've decided to plant rue to repel them from my side of the creek, as it's a deterrent to cats. The teddy bear in the picture is a play toy for them, and I'm sure it got ruined in some grotesque spray during a feline territory war. That's why it's hanging on the line. The cat lady washes every cat blanket, every toy and every pillow by hand before she hangs them all on the line to dry for later cat use. They are her bizarre, creepy fur children, and they absolutely freak me out.