Why Witches are Tired

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I have just uncovered the real secret history of witchcraft.

Forget moon phases. Forget Mercury retrograde. Forget the complicated correspondence tables.

Witches are cranky because their familiars are fucking cats.

And cats do not observe human concepts such as sleep, quiet hours, personal space, or the structural integrity of plastic bags.

What I experienced last night was apparently:

12:00 AM:
One cat begins an aria entitled THE DOOR IS CLOSED AND THIS IS AN OUTRAGE.

2:00 AM:
Another discovers plastic.
CRONCH CRONCH CRONCH.

4:00 AM:
THE THUNDERDOME OPENS.

Two cats who have lived in the same house for approximately three weeks decide that tonight is the perfect night to settle several ancient territorial disputes dating back to the Mesozoic Era.

4:17 AM:
Screaming.

4:19 AM:
Hissing.

4:21 AM:
Running approximately 900 miles per hour across the house.

4:22 AM:
Something falls over.

4:23 AM:
Silence.

You think, Finally.

4:24 AM:

MRRRRROOOOOOOOW.

And somewhere in the darkness, you lie there thinking:

I could have chosen a nice quiet religion.

But no.

You're a witch.

So naturally your spiritual companions are four tiny furry demons who believe the veil between worlds is best maintained by screaming at 3:47 in the morning.

And honestly, the familiar arrangement makes perfect sense.

A witch says:

"I am attuned to the natural world."

The cat says:

"I have eaten a piece of packing tape."

The witch says:

"I commune with ancient energies."

The cat says:

"I knocked your fucking chalice off the altar."

The witch says:

"I understand the mysteries of the universe."

The cat:

"Feed me."

And THAT, my friends, is why witches have traditionally been depicted as old, cranky, slightly wild women who mutter to themselves.

They haven't been casting spells.

They've been negotiating with cats for 400 years.



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