I refuse to be haunted...

Our house has slightly less concrete than this place
(and way more statues) but the creepy feeling of
emptiness is strikingly similar. 

Ok, so I live in a really weird apartment. It's big, it's airy (for lack of a better term) and there are rooms that I just never find the need to enter. Yeah, I get it -- it's creeeeepy.

Some people have walked through the door and immediately asked if this place is haunted. This has happened more than once.

Really? Has anyone out there ever gone to someone's home and immediately blurted out, "Hey, I bet your house is haunted." I haven't. Ever. Not even on Halloween. Well, unless it was Halloween and I was having the pee scared out of me in a haunted house. Then it sorta goes without saying. 

"Why, yes, our house is haunted.
And we like it like that." 

I never went to Debutante School or attended the "Miss Manners Polite Conversational Topics Course," but come on. I guess I was taught from birth that it's a Romper Room No-No to accuse someone of living in a haunted house. Unless it's the Addams Family. It's just not cool, y'all.

But on that note, I have to admit...

I have heard things.
I have seen things.
And there's this inexplicable... breeze at times.

"'ello mate! Any idea where I can find some
tasty eucalyptus leaves? Even a ficus tree
would do for now. Oi!"

And there was one very early morning when I woke to the sound of something clawing its way up the bedroom wall. (Luckily, it was on the outside of the house.) (I hope.) I have no idea what it was, but that thing had claws. Perhaps it was just a wayward Koala, looking for a gum tree. In reality, it was probably just a big fat rat...or a Komodo Dragon. Or a tiger.

But really, I have to be rational here. Why would a ghost want to haunt me? I'm a relatively good person. I capture spiders and set them free instead of squashing them. I cheer for people to win on "The Price is Right." (But I will admit to being mildly pissed off when a contestant on "Wheel of Fortune" buys a vowel for no apparent reason.) I feed stray dogs. I smile at strangers. (But I also carry mace, just to be safe.) I say please and thank you. I'm not playing a role in a Patrick Swayze/Demi Moore movie from the 80's. There's no reason for a ghost to haunt me, so I refuse to be haunted. It's that simple. Bing-bang-boom.

So what do I do when I hear and see these things?

I blame the cat. 

*Not an actual picture of Lolo, but a good
representation of his hatred. 

Oh, did I mention there's a cat here named Lolo? He hates me with a cat-like vengeance. I don't know why. I've never done anything but be nice to him, but you know how cats are -- no matter how nice you are, some of them will look at you and say, "Go to hell. I hate you. You suck and I want to claw your eyes out," with their beady little cat eyes. There's a certain level of hatred reserved only for cats. They can hate for no good reason, and Lolo is living proof.

There's one teeny little problem with this theory... Lolo never comes in the house. But I'm sure being the sneaky little furball of evil that he is, Lolo has figured out a way to get in undiscovered. Yeah, that must be it. Bad kitty.

So if anyone would like to call "Ghost Hunters" to come down here and set up their infra-red cameras and super high-tech ghost-hunting paraphernalia, go for it. I'd be interested in seeing what they find. For all I know, this place is a veritable plethora (that's right, I know big words) of paranormal ghostyness and lost spirits. Sorta like a frat house for poltergeists.

But until I'm proven otherwise, I'll blame the cat.

Until we meet again, stay thirsty my friends.

P.S. BOO!