Raw Food Diet, Day 198- Paranormal Crate

Spooky things have been happening around here lately.My mom is not a good sleeper.  Scratch that.  She's an awful sleeper.  And I would know because on occasion she'll peek into my crate in the wee hours of the morning.  But lately she hasn't been getting up and walking about as usual during the restless nights.  Instead she stays tucked in safe and scared.  

She's been seeing things.

For a few nights last week, mom would wake and see a dark, shadowy-looking thing in the bedroom, vertical and about the hight and width of a grown man.  Just a haze that's a few shades darker than the rest of the room.  Sometimes, if the bedroom door was open, mom would look out and see the shadow near the kitchen island.  It never moved.  Just stood.  It would be missing some nights and visit for just a short time on others.  Sometimes we hear bumps in the night.  These make me cry softly from my crate.

We live in an old old building.  So old that tourists visit just to take a look.  Nineteenth-century old with wonderfully cold marble floors.  It's old.  So maybe there are ghosts here.

A few days ago mom left her digital camera on the kitchen island.  It was off and had been off for hours.  Until it turned on.  We heard it sing its little chime as the lens came forward and the lights lit, and it focused on the white of the ceiling.  Mom turned it off and put it in a drawer.

For a few weeks, not every night but every so often, the TV would turn on.  Everyone would be in bed.  Doors would be closed.  Remotes put away.  Quiet.  And then the TV would turn on, loud and bright in the other room.  Sounds of infomercials and nonsense.

It was yesterday, late morning, while mom was working on the computer and I was crying and whining out in the den.  Crying and whining and crying.  I was terrified, and mom didn't know why.  I moved nervously about and would stop suddenly, slamming my bum to the floor in a Sit, licking my lips like I do when I'm stressed and making little noises with my throat.  I would peer around the corner of the island and run to the windows on the other side of the room.  Cry and whine.  More bum slamming and lip licking.  When I worked up the courage again I'd take another gander around the island and run, this time to my crate.  I wedged myself inside and shut the door as I am somehow able to do and kept myself safe inside for well over an hour.  When I eventually emerged my tail was tucked between my legs and I was frightened of the island.  One last peek around and I calmed down.  

There was nothing there.  Not this time.