A little while ago, I read this book about Wally Wood (a great comic-book artist, probably best known for his work on various EC comics during the 1950s). The biography itself wasn't terrific, but one interesting thing about it was that it had the street address of where Wood last lived and died; it even had the apartment number.

Wally Wood (his friends called him Woody) lived in Van Nuys, CA towards the end of his life, and shot himself in his apartment on Halloween night in 1981. I lived within driving distance of the address given, so one night I decided to make a pilgrimage to the site.

After a bit of searching, I found the exact address. The building had a security gate in the front, but there were some apartment units that were accessible on a small side street where I parked my car.

I looked inside one gated entrance, and saw the apartment where Wally Wood lived his last days. There was a very small porch area attached to the apartment, and it was cluttered with an infant's plastic tricycle and other playthings. I wondered if that family knew that somebody had shot themselves in their apartment. I also wondered if the place was haunted.

Just as I had that thought, I turned my head and saw a small cat sitting in the gutter next to a parked car. I said hello, but he didn't say anything. Normally, I would have tried to make the cat's acquaintance but it was nearly 2AM and more than a little cold.

I got back in my car, and turned around. I kept thinking that I should have spent a little more time there... that I should try to pick Wally Wood's vibe or something. Regardless, I continued to turn the vehicle around and to proceed home.

As I drove slowly down the street, I saw something in the middle of the road. It was the small cat; he was eating French fries that had been dumped in the road. He'll run away as I drive closer, I thought, but he didn't. Intuition kicked in, and something told me to stop the vehicle.

As I was getting out of the car, the cat started to walk away. He wasn't in a hurry, just taking his time. I tried to get the cat's attention as I walked closer. For whatever reason, I called out, "Woody."

The cat stopped, and stared at me for a moment. Then, without another look, walked away behind a parked car and went someplace where I couldn't go.

I drove home wondering about the afterlife... wondering if an old comic-book artist, who shot himself in his apartment, one Halloween night, long ago, would come back as a cat and watch over his old dwellings.

Who knows?

JR