I'd had a home made turkey potpie cooling for about an hour and was toting it into the living room. I'd already turned on the TV and was playing some programs that I'd TIVO'd over the last few days. The one that was showing was a program where Jennifer Love Hewitt is a medium or clairvoyant that can see and talk to ghosts. She was in this creeping old house, saying a calling spell or something, and this ghostly arm with bloodied fingers reached out of the mirror, reaching for her face. When the claws sank into my shoulder I just know, I know for sure that I screamed like a little girl 
Hobo Skimbleshanks, intrigued by the potpie, had jumped straight from the floor onto my shoulder.
I finally talked Hobo out from under the bed and convinced him that he wasn't in trouble (though we could talk about his timing), and he and the other cats are having an adventure, sniffing out the piece of potpie that went hither and yon. I've almost gotten enough sense of adventure built back up to see how much of it is still on the ceiling fan
Hobo Skimbleshanks, intrigued by the potpie, had jumped straight from the floor onto my shoulder.
I finally talked Hobo out from under the bed and convinced him that he wasn't in trouble (though we could talk about his timing), and he and the other cats are having an adventure, sniffing out the piece of potpie that went hither and yon. I've almost gotten enough sense of adventure built back up to see how much of it is still on the ceiling fan
