To drive up attendance at the Rotary Halloween party, two clever members rewrote a verse to Bad Moon Rising, and performed it in front of the meeting today, complete with ukulele accompaniment. It was cute and those of us of a certain age and demographic enjoyed singing along. I tried very hard to tamp down the feeling of inescapable dread that this song occasionally inspires in me, and take it as the bouncy tune it is on the surface. I promised the person I usually sit next to that I'd tell the backstory, so let's see what memories I dredge up.
In high school, I used to sleep with my radio playing all night. I still like having noise going when I sleep, in the form of music, audio books, or news. Back then it was the rock station out of Oklahoma City that lulled me to sleep. One autumn night, I woke up a second before the first chord strummed to Bad Moon Rising. I was filled with a sudden joy that came out of nowhere, briefly wide awake in the pre-dawn hours. I fell back asleep when the song ended. I woke later that morning with an ear infection, hurting deep inside my ear canal. I dragged myself the two blocks around the corner to where we practiced marching band, at the field next to the middle school. My friends alerted me that my cat had been either hit by a car, or something more nefarious that is for another story, in the street between my house and the school. I saw him, lying still on the edge of the street, blood congealed in the same spot on his head as where my ear infection was hurting me. Needless to say I was an emotional wreck for the rest of the day, after calling my stepdad and asking him to come retrieve Noa's body. I did the math in my head, and remain convinced to this day that he was killed at the very moment that song woke me.
This was not the only strange event I associated with that song. Twice more it involved cats, another one dying a mere week after the first, and then a few months later, my friend showing up at D&D with a found kitten, who was immediately adopted by my cousin (the game was at his apartment anyway). I know there were other spooky coincidences, but none stuck in my mind as thoroughly as the cat episodes. The first time it happened was almost 40 years ago, and I can remember as clearly as if I were still there, on a humid autumn night, next to an open window. I can smell the warm wood smell of the house. I can feel the firm mattress and the carvings of the bedframe. I can hear the tiny speakers of the clock radio that was always on. I can see my beloved tuxie cat lying in the street, in the gray, foggy light of that next morning. I've had more than a dozen cats come and go in my life since Noa, but I will never forget.
I don't think I have any surviving pictures of him. He was a handsome, handsome boy. What I do have is a picture of a lovely young lady who was not feeling well at all today. I picked her up from school, and her teacher told me she had a cough and a runny nose. That wasn't the half of it. We needed to do a quick Walmart trip on the way home, and she voluntarily lay in the shopping cart, and curled up and slept while I grabbed the few things I needed. She was pale and her coughing and massive booger nose were pitiful. When we got home, I set her up on my couch, with fresh fuzzy blankets, Disney+ on the iPad, lemonade with added honey, and microwavable mac and cheese. I wonder if this unlocks a new core memory, getting pampered at grandma's house when she feels yucky.
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