Some of us had several of the new "Crispy" Snickers bars and called it dinner.
One of us was happy to wear her beloved witch costume for a few hours. That would be me. I feel very at home in those clothes. When I decided to be a witch for a Halloween event a couple of years ago, I found I already had everything I needed for a great costume — a fitted black velvet top with outrageous leg-o-mutton sleeves. A long, sweeping, black damask skirt. Suitable boots, jewelry, shawls, and even a warm coat. All I was missing was a hat. I bought a big velvet one with a wired brim, and trimmed it with a cluster of old brooches.
As a witch, I walk my neighborhood with a stern expression, and I get respect. Sometimes I wish we could move to Salem and buy an old house. There are many wonderful and affordable houses there, unlike here. And I could dress as a witch whenever I wanted and no one would bat an eye.
But I digress. (Soon I will tell you what the Sabines were doing on October 31, 1916. I just happened to read about it today — a day they never forgot.)
Not everyone feels as I do about witch hats. Every Halloween we try to persuade the cats that they look fabulous wearing witch hats. And they strongly disagree.
This year, our most cooperative — "most" and "cooperative" being very relative terms — model was Possum. His ever-expressive eyes speak volumes in these photos:
"Go ahead, make my day."
"Just kill me now..."