My Black Kitty

Author: Zodiac

I remember the first time I got a black cat. I was three or four years old and my uncle worked at a dairy farm. One day he found a black cat trying to steal some of the cream. He brought me out to his place to work and I took the cat home.

Although the cat was a she, I named it “Tio” which means “Uncle” in Spanish. I loved my black kitty with all my heart. My mother recalls times when I was clumsily carrying Tio around and the cat would scratch me because I was being too rough. Despite my crying, I told her not to yell at Tio.

Unfortunately it turned out that my father was allergic to the cat. Although he liked Tio too, we had to give the cat away. I cried and cried. My tender four-year-old heart broken.

It would be 21 years before I would get another cat. This time a yellow beast for Christmas from my wife. I loved the new animal, but still longed for pet of my youth: a black cat.

Imagine my surprise when I went to the pound. The first thing I discovered was that black cats were hard to get adopted. The second thing that surprised me was that most shelters don’t adopt black cats during the month of October.

I had considered the superstition surrounded the black cat. How a black cat crossing your path is unlucky is a common theme in children’s cartoons. And as a joke, I even named my black cat “Dreizehn” meaning “Thirteen” in German. But I never imagined how seriously it was taken. There is something strange that in the modern day when people are taught not to judge by things like skin pigmentation that the black cat would be stigmatized. After all, any biologist could tell you that a cat’s colorations are caused by the same biochemicals. Why the hate?

Believe it or not, originally black cats were considered lucky. The Pagan Egyptians worshipped Bast a Goddess who would appear as a (you guessed it) black cat. When the animal “crossed your path”, it meant the Goddess was watching you and protecting you. One could tell the Goddess apart from other black cats because she would always appear as a completely solid black cat. (Dreizehn is not the Goddess. He has white hairs in his otherwise glossy coat, but I digress.)

The Pagan Egyptians decided not to take any chances. Killing a cat was illegal in those times. The crime was taken so seriously that the punishment was death. Moreover they built an entire city to the cats. Worshippers would travel from miles away to bring offerings of milk and food.

Okay so where did all this unlucky stuff come from? Well a new religion called “Christianity” began to move in to the region. To the Christians all Pagan deities were the Devil or his Demons. They began to convert the population and the old Gods began to be rejected. Now suddenly a black cat following you around was a Demon trying to drag you body back to the cult and your soul to Hell. Like the Egyptians, the Christians weren’t going to risk it – only this time they were out to get rid of black cats.

The poor animals were condemned all because of their fur.

It’s strange because a later cult called “Islam” would once again revere the cat, black ones included. When Mohammed wandered the lonely deserts it was the wild cats that kept him company. There are stories of Mohammed cutting the sleeves off of his robes rather than disturb his sleeping feline pets. And from what I understand, it is against Islamic law to chase a cat from a Mosque.

But these are the customs of the Middle East where most people consider themselves Muslims. Not the West where most people consider themselves Christians.

So the black cat has to live with its reputation as a partner in Satan’s conspiracy to pull us all down. Which is strange because I guess “Satanists” sacrifice black cats on Halloween. I put Satanists in quotes, because I’m pretty sure these people are mostly stupid, mean teenagers trying to look cool for their friends. And it makes me want to VOMIT.

It somehow seems unjust that I had to give up my black kitty when I was four and live the rest of my life with a broken heart meanwhile some turd out there is killing their cat for fun. (My good Christian neighbors would probably fall out of their chairs if they read that I a witch of all people was advising not to sacrifice animals. But I digress again.)

Today I own several cats. Dreizehn is not too different from any of them. Maybe more set in his ways. He really likes being a house cat. He has a set routine that he likes. Dreizehn wants his canned kitty food at the same time.

We used to take him to a vet that specializes in cats. They told us that he has some of the softest fur they’ve ever seen. He also has these gold eyes. Just like the in the kids cartoons, when he’s in the dark all you can see is the two quarter sized discs staring out at you.

And like the Halloween decoration, I’ve seen him arch his back and put out his claws – but that was usually because he was leaning in to one of my pats. And I’ve seen him snarl and hiss, but that’s because I was trying to move him from the softest, warmest place on the bed and he didn’t want to move. And I’ve seen him skulk in the shadows, but that’s because he was hiding from the dog. And just like every other cat I own, there are times when he coughs up hairballs and misses the litterbox. But none of these things has ever made me want to hurt him.

My Dreizehn kitty is a loyal friend and a great companion. He seems to sense when I’m sad and comes running to my lap when I’m down. Dreizehn came running in to greet my son when we first came home from the hospital. Dreizehn jumped in the crib, took that “I approve” cat look and just purred and purred. Even today when my son cries out in pain or sadness, the black cat is usually the first one on the scene.

He’s one of the best pets and best friends I’ve ever had. If more people could just look past the silly superstitions, they’d learn that too.