Every August when I was a kid, the stores in our town rolled their wares out onto the sidewalks and declared a sale for the Dog Days of Summer.

Now that people are littering their lawns and porches with pumpkins, spiderwebs and skeletons, what do we call October — the (Black) Cat Days of Fall?

Many, many full moons ago, when I was still serving time in Monroe Elementary School, we read a famous poem by Carl Sandberg called “Fog”:

“The fog comes in

on little cat feet.

It sits looking

over the harbor and city

on silent haunches

and then moves on.”

There was not a word about autumn in that piece, but it would fit. Some of those people who clutter up their homes with bats and ghosts and gargoyles add fog machines as well.

The thing about the Cat Days of Fall is that cats are notoriously uncooperative. You can’t count on them to lightly pad in on little cat feet, sit silently, then move on.

The cats I know would shred all of the straw out of your scarecrow, bound up to the roof, slap your orange and black Halloween lights to the ground, then land claws-first on your inflatable (but quickly deflating for good) Frankenstein’s monster.

It might be the only time I cheer for the cats. I’m not a fan of celebrating monsters and gory things, but there’s no way I’m bounding onto roofs or leaping onto balloons or anything else that requires nimbleness. At my age and girth, I would thunder in on big elephant feet — then take a nap.

The Cat Days of Fall are much different than those Dog Days of Summers and those awful sales. Talk about turning a treat into a trick! Mom was surprised when I agreed to go to the Dog Days Sale without fussing. But when we got there, I was the one who was surprised.

“Where are the puppies?”

Mom was busy rifling through a rack full of boys’ pants under the hot sun. “What?”

“The puppies. The dogs on sale for summer?”

“There aren’t any dogs. They’re selling back-to-school clothes. Now go inside to the dressing room and try these on.”

I wish there had been dogs. A dog would chew those stupid pants to shreds, then I wouldn’t have to try on any clothes. There wasn’t a hound in sight.

“If there ain’t no puppies, why do they call it dog days?”

“Because it’s August. August is the hottest month of the year. And dogs lie around on porches panting and sleeping. Here, try on these pants, too.”

I had more questions but the longer I hung around, the more clothes Mom would find for me to try on. I hated trying on clothes.

I wanted to curl up on a porch next to a dog and help him pant, not try on pants.

Cat Days of Fall Sales would, I hope, focus on candy bars, the big ones. If anyone dropped those so-called “fun-size” niblets in your trick-or-treat bag, the cat — who would already be in the bag because, you know, cats — would yowl and shred them.

Of course, during Cat Days of Fall sales, you wouldn’t find any candy on the store shelves. The cats would have knocked them all to the floor.

Then the cats would curl up in the empty candy boxes and go to sleep. They wouldn’t pant like old hounds during the Dog Days of Summer. But if you tried to pick up one of the floored candy bars, the cat — while still asleep — would lash out with a paw and scratch your hand.

Maybe when the fog rolls in on kitten paws, you can try again. Until then, celebrate the Cat Days of Fall with a catnap.

Yowl at Cole at burton.w.cole@gmail.com or on the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook.