Ghosts

The house is entombed with a silence of death.  

Then.  

Subliminal softness of  a subdued shuffle.  Non-distinct.  Hairs hackle on my neck.  Hand on my mouse . . . freezes in place.  

I listen.  

Wherefore doust thou ghosts dwell in the haunts of these thine walls?  

I slowly turn.  

Cat meanders, shoulders shifting in a bullying prance.   He looks annoyed. Pissed would be more apropos. 

Then,  subliminal softness of subdued shuffle again.   

My eye catches the glint of movement.  

Up.  High.  On top of cupboards.  Where garlands of plastic rickrack catch the settling of the unlimited infiltration of loess.  

The sparrow is panicked.  

Frozen.  

Then oscillates again with the frantic.  

That damn cat!  

I block open the door.  

In time the frantic escapes.  

The cat dozes on the patio swing.  

Ghosts, again, are subdued.