As Obi-Wan Kenobi, Luke Skywalker and Han Solo are known to say frequently, I have a bad feeling about this.

Beautiful as they may be, and I admit that the effect they have on the room is somewhat aesthetically pleasing, this many candles can not be a good thing. I keep trying to convince myself that Chris knows what he is doing. Mind you, I also keep trying to tell myself that this is *not* a triumph of hope over experience. I cling desperately to the belief that the arrival of screaming fire engines is *not* part of his plan and that he’s not going to allow the house to burn down.

The fact that Chris almost set fire to the kitchen last week, after Sam’s taunts about his predilection for take-away got the better of him and he made the huge, delusional, mistake of deciding he could prove Sam wrong (needless to say, once the fire alarm *finally* shut up, Sam laughed. A lot. A *real* lot. I thought he was going to crack a rib the way he carried on. It was most unbecoming), is something that I am trying to forget.

Interestingly, I think if I continue to stare into the flickering embers glowing through the macabre, carved face of the jack-o’-lantern, that I’m going to end up hypnotised and won’t have to worry about anything anymore. Shaking my head, and forcing myself to move, I jump off the chair and wander away from the table with its centre piece of a huge pumpkin with triangles carved out of it for eyes, nose and a row of joined triangles for a mouth.

I far preferred watching Chris hack his way through the pumpkin than I do watching the end product. Now it simply seems oddly evil and terribly lifeless. Last night, however, what with the colourful language being directed at it, it was as though it had a life of its own. Chris has such a creative imagination. I think he’s wasted at CI5. He should join forces with someone like Tarantino and make expletive laden movies for the pop-culture market. Failing that, he should learn to relax and to not take things so personally. Quite frankly, I’m positive the pumpkin wasn’t going out of its way to annoy him.

Then again, he was tetchy even before he picked up the poor defenceless pumpkin, so perhaps it was simply inevitable that he’d try and take his frustrations out on it.

You see, tonight’s Halloween, and my American house-mate *loves* Halloween. He remembers, with great fondness, trick or treating and the annual dilemma of having to choose the coolest costume.

Unlike his British partner…

Last night, words were had on the subject. Sam thinks, amongst other things, that Halloween is a huge wank. Not that he said so in exactly those words; he’s too polite for that. That’s just what *I* think he was thinking. No, he used words like ‘commercial’ and ‘farce’ and ‘childish’. He was in the process of issuing forth a sentence that seemed to consist of maligning the monetary waste of celebrating something that is essentially morbid, when Chris pouted.

Chris pouted and Sam faltered.

"Ah… Uh… Er…" mumbled Sam, seemingly losing the ability to speak.

Chris blinked and folded his arms across his chest.

"As I… ah… was saying…" stuttered Sam, trying to regain his querulous line of thought.

Chris didn’t say a word, he simply stared at Sam and waited.

Surprise, surprise -- *not*! -- he didn’t have to wait long.

Sam, looking vaguely distraught by the turn of events, sighed and capitulated. "Your wish is my command. Anything you want to do is fine with me," he declared helplessly, his eyes pleading with Chris to forgive him.

They kissed. They made up. They disappeared into the bedroom.

The whole exchange took less than three minutes. It never fails to amaze me the effect Chris has on Sam when he pouts. Sam just melts and gives in immediately. This is turn makes me question their willpower when they’re out in the big wide world, keeping it smelling of air freshener or whatever it is that they do. I thought they were trained to withstand just about anything and everything, yet Sam crumples when Chris pouts at him. It’s interesting. Not that Chris is any different though. There’s a particular set of Sam’s jaw that has the exact same effect on him. They’re honestly as bad as each other.

Anyway, having won, Chris had to then start part two of whatever his peculiar plan was to introduce Sam to the joys of Halloween. This necessitated creeping, glowing and ruffled, out of the bedroom, while Sam still slept -- hence the tetchiness; he was up when he didn’t really have to be -- and attacking the pumpkin. Although it never stood a chance, as I’ve previously mentioned, it put up one a hell of fight. Apparently it was such a worthy opponent that Chris had to take it, and his knife, outside so as not to wake Sam with his grunting -- and expletives -- of exertion.

Torn between sneaking into the bedroom and lulling myself to sleep with Sam’s snoring, or watching Chris massacre the pumpkin, I chose the latter. I had to. For all I knew he could have been deluded enough to attempt to make pumpkin soup (I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, there are times when the Goddess alone knows what goes through Chris’ head…) and I felt I had to lurk in order to sound the alarm should the kitchen be overcome with smoke again. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when the guts of the pumpkin was thrown into the bin and it became vaguely obvious what it was he was doing.

Come morning, after carefully sniffing the air and wrinkling his nose, Sam asked blandly, "Er… Chris, why do you smell like a pumpkin?"

Chris didn’t deign to respond and simply buried his head under the duvet. I tried to explain to Sam why Chris smelt like he did, but Sam sighed in that way that only Sam is capable of and I quickly decided to save my energy; he’d find out soon enough.

My day, after they left, was spent in a pleasant state of anticipation. I’ve seen Halloween on American TV shows and thought, at the time, that it looked pretty entertaining. Unfortunately this feeling is beginning to dissipate slightly as I watch Chris and his new apparent fetish for candles. Trick or treat my little pink butt. He’s simply aiming for a bit of Gothic seduction. Personally, I don’t even know why he’s bothering. Surely they’ve done it all and seen it all before? Truly, I fail to see how lighting the living room and bedroom with what appears to be hundreds of candles is going to thrill Sam in any huge way.

Still, what would I know? I’m the cat who foolishly thought that the plastic… *thing*… that materialised from under the bed one day was some form of strangely shaped Tupperware. Jojo set me straight. I’m not overly convinced I believe him though. I mean… Nah… Forget it. To each their own and all that.

Meandering gingerly around the copious candles -- I have no desire whatsoever to risk scorching my fur; the Mr Bigglesworth look is *not* one I wish to emulate -- I make my way to the bedroom. There I encounter Chris, and he beams at me as I hop lightly up onto the bed…

… and nearly slide straight off the other side…

// What the? //

Digging my claws in, I wail and anchor myself to the mattress. Looking down, I see that the cause of my momentary distress is a set of satin sheets. *Black* satin sheets. Chris is obviously going *all* out tonight. Once I’m content that I’m settled and relatively safe from sliding off the bed, I peer at Chris and watch him place two bags labelled ‘Versace’ on the bedside table. He whistles happily (not to mention annoyingly) as he strips off and kicks his clothes under the bed. Completely naked, and with the shadows from the candles flickering becomingly on his pale skin -- appreciating beauty has always been one of my fortes and I have to give credit where credit is due -- he pulls a pair of black leather trousers from one of the bags and puts them straight on over bare skin.

// How on earth can that be comfortable? // I ask, watching him wriggle and squirm as he, incredibly tentatively, does up the fly. Once this is done, he sighs in relief and perceptively relaxes. // Oh. It’s not. // I comment drily, // Yet you still feel oddly compelled to put yourself through the discomfort for no other reason than to give Sam a cheap thrill. //

Or not so cheap as the case may be. I’m well and truly aware of how expensive Versace is -- Sam and his constant lament over his cushions ensures that I can never forget this -- and wonder why Chris is bothering. Going on past examples of this kind of seduction that I’ve been witness to, he doesn’t stay in whatever it is he’s wearing long enough to justify either the cost or the effort. Honestly, I’ll never fully comprehend humans. How they allegedly rule the earth is beyond me.

Chris, with his usual exemplary timing, backs my theory up by pulling what looks to be a glorified fish net out of the other bag. Said fish net turns out to be a shirt and Chris starts to whistle again as he pulls it on. I fail to see the point of it; you can see everything. Not only that, but it brings an unwanted flashback to mind… Mrs Fat Cow in fishnet stockings… Even though this horrific image assaulted me sometime last year, I still shudder. Ironically, I think there would have been more fishnet in *one* leg of her stockings then there is in the entirety of Chris’ shirt. And his shirt isn’t even tight… Go figure.

Sinking down on the bed, and causing me to slip slightly, Chris quickly puts on socks and a pair of high sheen boots before getting back up and *undulating* out of the bedroom. I’m vaguely curious in regards to this undulating movement as I don’t know whether it’s because he’s trying to be sexy, or whether it’s simply because his trousers are too tight.

Sam doesn’t stand a chance. Been there, done that won’t even enter the equation.

So much for my delusion that Halloween was actually going to be entertaining for me too. Hopping off the bed, I wander out of the room and seat myself in the middle of the living room. I decide to wait here until Sam arrives, so I can see his eyes all but literally pop out of his head at the sight of Chris, before escaping into the cemetery. With any luck things will be more interesting out there. Hell, even listening to Jojo’s tall tales of city life would have to have more going for it than listening to my two insatiable humans grunt and groan and squeak.

While I wait, I indulge is a quick spot of grooming (even Jojo is worth the effort of looking my best) and have barely finished smoothing my whiskers when I hear the front door opening. I’m not the only one to note the sound of Sam’s arrival as Chris comes bounding out of the bathroom, narrowly avoids tripping over me, and drapes himself languidly over the sofa. My paw freezes, mid-swipe, as I notice he’s outlined his eyes in kohl like the clever Egyptians who used to worship cats. Chris has really excelled himself this time as he looks *stunning*. Vaguely deranged, but stunning nonetheless.

Needless to say, I’m not the only one to think this.

"Happy Hallow…" starts Sam, as he arrives in the room, before his jaw drops open and hits the ground. He stands, dumbfounded and frozen, as he stares at the gloriously Gothic vision of his partner sprawled decadently on the sofa. "Aaaahh… I… ah… When you said Halloween festivities, I kinda… ah… I thought…" Sam stammers, blinking slowly and looking incredibly stunned.

"Mmm…" smoulders Chris, "Trick or treat?"

// Go on Sam, surprise me. Say trick. By the way, stop drooling. You might stain the carpet. //

"Um… Treat…" gurgles Sam.

// Fine. Don’t surprise me then. // After stretching, I start to wander towards my cat-flap as Chris drags himself off the sofa and glides slowly towards Sam. // I’m outta here! Have fun. // I know the latter comment is utterly, utterly redundant but it’s out of my mouth before I can stop it. Fun, or whatever their peculiar version thereof is, is guaranteed. I’d bet every one of my nine lives on this fact with the *utmost* confidence.

Leaving them to it, I exit the apartment through the cat-door and find myself in the cool night air. A full moon glows high in the black sky and bathes the tombstones in ethereal light. I sigh in happiness as I start my slow tour of my grounds. I’ll go looking for Jojo in a while, but for now I’m content just to be by myself. Wandering around, I deliberately empty my mind of all thoughts and simply float off into my own little dream world.