Hi Phil Factor friends, this post is from another blogging friend, IamTheSunKing, who likes cats and paranormal subjects, so I thought why not have her combine them and invite her to write about it?
Have you heard the saying*, “Dogs have owners, but cats have staff”? It’s true to some extent, but I would go as far as to say that some cats have bitches. There, I’ve said it.
*Here in the UK, it’s a saying. In America it’s probably a car bumper sticker.
We humans invite them into our homes, only to let them bleed us dry financially and treat us like dirt – and, the more haughty and entitled the cat, the more desperate we are to please them. This goes on and on until one of us dies. And, if the cat goes first, by that time we’re so severely Stockholm-Syndromed that we just invite another one in and start the process all over again.
I know, it’s pathetic.
We live with a cat called Louis Catorze, and we are moderately ashamed to admit that we are his bitches. He’s unusually small for an adult cat, weighing in at a gossamer-light 3kg, but being telepathically commanded by such a physically-unimposing beast a fraction of our size just adds to the unease. He is truly the king of all that he surveys, happily talking on larger cats, foxes, dogs and whatever else. However, his kyrptonite is a piece of cutlery dropped onto the floor. Doing that breaks the spell and sends him running for the hills.
It doesn’t particularly help us that almost every evil cat in history and pop culture happens to look like Louis Catorze: jet black with slanted alien eyes and protruding fangs.
Not only that, but there is a tangible change in his behaviour in the run-up to any full moon, with his eyes widening and his fangs protruding when he’s feeling playful. This makes him very popular at Hallowe’en, and he has heaps of visitors, some of whom book to see him months in advance. It’s not quite such fun for those of us having to share a house with him and navigate the lunar and/or seasonal arseholery on a permanent basis.
That said, all cats are creepy. Even the neighbour’s long-haired white cat with the pink diamanté collar, who looks like she ought to be Barbara Cartland’s (**Younger followers and non-Brits: ask any British person aged 103 or more) cat, is creepy.
And, yes, yours is creepy, too. How is it NOT creepy to be able to move noiselessly through the house, in and out of locked rooms, to stare at ghosts in the seemingly-empty space just behind your pathetic human, to synchronise clocks with other cats so that you all go apeshit at the stroke of 3am, and to know that your human is about to arrive home BEFORE they actually do it? All things considered, it’s not surprising that there is so much folklore surrounding cats.
Most of us are familiar with the idea of cats having nine lives. Even Shakespeare was in on it when he had Mercutio declare: “Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives.” I think he said this when he was challenging Tybalt to a fight although, these days, if you go into any Wetherspoons pub on a Friday night, you’ll see that people will find any excuse to beat someone else up.
I have always taken the Nine Lives thing to mean that cats are extremely resilient, getting back up every time they’re knocked down, rather like Michael Myers in the Halloweens. However, rather fittingly, since we have just celebrated the Celtic festival of Samhain, the precursor to Hallowe’en, legend has it that witches are able to shapeshift eight times from human to feline form, before becoming permanently stuck as a cat on the ninth attempt. This is smart thinking. Who would want to be a human forever, with jobs, health woes, stress, debt, climate change and all the rest of it? Far better to be the furry overlord commanding one’s human bitches, non?
As we roll steadily from Samhain (ominous and dark) to Yule (somewhat jollier because of the sleigh bells, but even darker due to the winter solstice), the cat creepiness doesn’t stop. A quick hop – for us Brits, anyway – across the North Atlantic takes us to Iceland, where the Yule cat, or Jólakötturinn, is creating havoc.
This beast is considerably larger than Louis Catorze – mind you, most creatures are, other than hamsters and the odd guinea pig – but, would you believe, it’s also depicted as an onyx-black, fanged monster. Curiously, the Jólakötturinn’s victims/dinner are children who, erm, don’t wear at least one new piece of clothing on Christmas Eve. Clever parents use this as a bargaining tool to make their offspring behave – a darker version of Elf on the Shelf, if you will – and clever children go along with it. Better not to be eaten by a cat than to be eaten by a cat, as they say***.(***They probably don’t say this.)
Since I’m not a dog person, I’m not anywhere near as clued-up about dog folklore. But I expect it’s all happy and jovial on the other side. Granted, you get the odd fiery-eyed hell-hound on desolate moors. But, apart from them, it’s all good in the world of dogs; they love us and are on our side, whether they’re our actual pets or phantom Lassie-alikes sent to guide lost travellers to safety. Whereas, with cats, whichever way we turn, there seems to be yet another one who does nasty things, or who threatens us with implied nastiness, if we don’t do as we’re told. So we just shut up and behave.
Louis Catorze knows this. They all know this. Yet, if this strikes a chord with you, and certain events/behaviours in your household are finally beginning to make sense, regretfully there’s not much you can do. Don’t be a disrupter, because it will just make things worse. Trust history, and know your place as a cat-bitch. It’s the only way.
Thank you IamSunKing! It was a pleasure to host you on my blog. Your cat is lucky to have you, or are you lucky to have him? If you enjoy cats and the paranormal, give IamSunKing a follow at her blog!
Thanks for reading! Have a great Saturday! ~Phil
