In which there is a thunderstorm and someone subsequently becomes frightened and confused

There's a flash, and the thunder rumbles, and Diana jumps. See, Di is terrified of thunderstorms, and has been as long as I've known her. It's probably because she has no way to defend herself against them. She grows red roses around her house to protect herself from vampires, and she sleeps with a silver spoon in her hand to drive away the werewolves, but there's nothing to counteract a nice big thunderstorm.
The thunder roars out again, closer this time, and Diana yelps and shoves a massive bright blue pillow embroidered with (what else?) red roses over her head. Honestly, though, where on Earth did she find that thing? It's almost as big as she is, and more than twice as wide. Forget pillow, I think it's a plumpy tent. Must. Resist. Urge. To Shred.
"The stupid giants are throwing rocks at each other like they do in Wonderland!" Di mumbles from under the plumpy tent thing, her voice shaky and nervous.
"The giants are from The Hobbit, dear," Di's mom says from where she sits with her book, close enough to keep an eye on her freaked-out daughter. In response, Di throws the plumpy tent off her head, wailing petulantly.
"See what this storm has done to my delicate mental faculties! I can't even keep my fantastical literature straight!"
"Delicate mental faculties is right," I mutter. It is a testament to the versatile nature of Diana's mom that she doesn't even bat an eye when a cat starts talking. That's one unflappable woman.
"Oh Ares," Di starts, "don't mock those of us who fear the thunder and the lightning. Just because you were born in the midst of a thunderstorm during a new moon and therefore aren't scared of storms."
"Of course I'm not scared of...wait, what?"
Di sighs, momentarily distracted from the storm. "Ares, black cats are only born during thunderstorms that occur during new moons. Everyone knows that."
Oh, really? This is news to me. Well, I don't actually remember being born (who does?), so I suppose it could be true. I don't really remember anything at all from my life before coming to live with Di's family. Maybe my entire kittenhood was spent in a thunderstorm. In the dark. Under a plumpy tent.
The thunderstorm's still going strong, and Di's pulled the plumpy pillow thing off her head and begun clutching it to her chest, her skinny legs sticking out on either side. I curl up on top of the tent-like stuffball, and Diana begins absentmindedly scratching me behind one ear. Crash! goes the thunder, and Di's fingers dig reflexively into my fur. Ow, okay, that one hurt. She seems slightly calmer now that I'm sitting her though, so I stay, painful as it may be.
What are friends for, after all?

Because it's Halloween and I wanted to write something for it...

I hate Halloween. I mean, it's bad enough being a black cat during the rest of the year, but Halloween just sucks. I've had people try to kick me, for heaven's sake! And then there's all the screams, and people yelling, "BLACK CAT!!!" like it's a big deal or something. It's not my fault I was born with black fur. It's genetics, people! Look it up!

The worst people, though, are the ones who try to keep me, or worse, pet me. No thank you. I already have one human to take care of, and believe you me, she's enough of a handful as it is.

"I hate Halloween," I grumble to my human, Diana. Of course, she's not listening. She never is.

"That's nice," she says absently. See? I told you. "Hey," she asks, fingering a stick of over-processed sugar, "do you think Mrs. Gremble poisoned my Kit-Kat bar?"

"No," I sulk, "She thinks you're an angel."

"Exactly! She's hiding something. Something dark and threatening. I don't think I'll eat this Kit-Kat." She throws it across the room where it joins an ever-growing pile of falsely accused candy.

"Now take Mr. Loka," she continues, examining a chocolate bar, "Why does he leave his house every night at precisely 7 o'clock?"

"Your mother told you. He works the night shift."

"The night shift is all a lie," she states wisely, biting off a chunk of chocolate. "Anyone who says they work 'the night shift' is actually a vampire."

"Oh really," I say sourly, "remind me to stay away from 24/7 grocery stores."

Di looks up, her head cocked. "Hey," she says innocently, "are you in a bad mood?"

"No," I drawl, "I'm positively ecstatic. How can I be upset on my favorite holiday?"

"If it's an apology you're looking for, then I'm sorry you couldn't ride on my shoulder."

"And why not?" I demand, "I did last year."

"Last year," Di says patiently, (patiently! As if this is a rational explanation!) "I was the Wicked Witch of the West. A black cat fit. Cinderella does not keep black cats." She flicks an imaginary speck of dust from her immaculate Disney Princess dress. I might just be forced to shred that dress. While she's wearing it.

"So now even you're prejudiced against black cats."

"Am not! Cinderella is. Take it up with her."

"Oh sure. I'll just catch the next train to fairy-tale-land, shall I?"

She gives me a long-suffering sigh. "Ares, you are a talking cat. You were probably born in fairy-tale-land." Here we go again...

"Diana, come to bed!" A voice floats from upstairs.

"Oh, mother," Di calls back, "I couldn't possibly sleep with all this sugar rushing through me."

"Then the grindlelaggers will get you!"

Di gasps. "The grindlelaggers! I forgot! They'll come and steal my toes if I don't go to bed on time! Come, Ares," she grabs me unceremoniously in one hand and seizes her pillowcase of candy with the other, "we to bed."

See what I mean? Humans. Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em. Some are better than others, though. They give you a home, and a safe place from all the other humans who think you're a walking curse.

Home. It's a nice word. It's a nice place too, even if it's full of Cinderellas who won't let you ride on their shoulders.