Continuing the discussion from Tell Us Your Extremely Local Ghost Stories!: In July of 2019, our beloved dog Sable died of kidney failure. In the weeks before she passed she was my constant companion in the house or the garden studio where I make jewelry. Ultimately we gave her a burial fit for a Celtic Princess: shrouding her in a fine wool blanket and interring her with her favorite toy, pearls, turquoise, a bit of silver, and one of my husband’s socks. (She’d buried its mate in the yard). Then we covered her with flowers and earth, beneath our terrace table where she could always be at the party and beg for scraps. I cried every day for weeks. Then one night, very late when I was out beading in my studio, our cat scratched at the door to ask for kibble. He’ll only come in and eat if I leave the door open, so I left it ajar and went back to concentrating on a string of corals. Presently I was getting cold, and assuming the cat had eaten and left, nudged the door shut without looking up from my bead board. After a few minutes I distinctly felt something brush against my leg. Thinking I’d shut the cat in or perhaps a possum had entered, I looked around–and found that I was quite alone.
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