We almost never get trick or treaters. We always hope.

It’s the day of the hat, the Cat in the Hat hat that makes him about eight feet tall. After all these years of being scrunched into a box 364 days a year, it was just slightly wrinkle-ish in the middle but once it was on his head it stood proud and tall in its fine bright stripes, trying to make his intimidating height into a relatable and good thing from a small child’s vantage point.

Not once on the doorbell.

I just walked in the other room where he was and guffawed. His hat! (While he looked at me like –What?)

The top half had fallen in on itself and then flopped over. Like a tired kid on candy overload needing to be put to bed and put over its parent’s shoulder as they carry their little dragon home.

(Now if I can just get a photo of the finished afghan to come through here.)