Purrchance To Dream

Spooker was a shelter-kitty.
We'd adopted her when we lived in an apartment in Dayton.
Even though Lee & I had both grown up with cats, I had to do some serious whining to get him to agree to cat adoption. His terms: it had to come from the animal shelter (fine with me) and it should be an adult, spayed female. Fine.
We went to see the cats at the Dayton shelter. While waiting for the volunteer to check on available spayed female adults, she put us into a "bonding room" -- with a little grey ball of fluff.
"No kittens," Lee reminded me as the volunteer put the mewling fluff into my cupped hands.
This little one had been left in a shoebox on the stoop of the shelter (probably a runt, abandoned by a breeder, the volunteer told us). She was so tiny. Her little collar (like a hospital armband) had "GRADY" written is black block letters. As soon as she hit my palms, she started to purr. Lee pretty much knew he'd lost this battle.
At the time, we were HUGE X-Files fans, and I made it no secret I planned on naming our new cat Scully. But this little kitten jumped at every sound. "Spooky is more like it for this one," said Lee, naming Mulder's nick-name: Spooky. Of course, Spooky quickly stuck, and by the time I'd signed the adoption papers, it was Spooker.
Spooker Marie is her full in-touble name, by the way. You know, like how when I was bad as a kid and I was suddenly "Morgen Hugh" -- the way parents (or grandmother in my case) would add your middle name when calling you out when you were busted. Spooker stuck, and she stuck in my heart and has been there ever since.
Spooker was a fine, frisky young adult cat when we moved into our first house, in Dayton, Ohio. She quickly realized it was her palace, and her playground. She delighted in running up and down and up and down the carpeted stairs. And that's where it got weird.
See, when she was in one of her running sprees, sometimes she would be possessed by the spirit of a little dog.
She would run up and down the stairs, barking.
Yes, that's right.
Barking.
Our cat would run up and down the stairs, barking: "ruh-ruh-ruff ruff ruh ruff". It sounded freakily like a yappy terrier. She did this dozens of times over the years we lived in that house.
Turns out, the previous owners had kept a terrier and her litter of pups in the basement, the cat lady next door told me, and one of the puppies had fallen down the basement stairs and had died.

Oooooh --- creepy. My Spooker was channeling a terrier.

After we moved out of that house, Spooker NEVER made that barking sound again. Sure, she still delights in her wild full-moon inspired midnight rampage runs. But now, it's just the Spooker running. No barking.

Today, Spooker spends more time curled up, napping, than most anything else. She's about 13 years old now and she is still not amused that I have thrust two hyperactive miscreants into her dotage. When she's not napping, she's ususally growling or hissing at Daphne or Chloe.

But Spooker is still my #1 kid, and now that it's cold again, we share a pillow at night. When I get into bed at night, I lie on my back, reading. Spooker is on my chest, getting a good ear scratch during this time. Then, when it's time for lights-out, I turn over and spread out the pillow flat. She curls up on her half, and I get half with my nose sticking into her fur. I wrap my right arm up around her, and we drift off into a purry slumber.