object:1f.lovecraft - The Cats of Ulthar
author class:H P Lovecraft
subject class:Fiction
genre class:Horror
class:chapter
It is said that in Ulthar, which lies beyond the river Skai, no man may
kill a cat; and this I can verily believe as I gaze upon him who
sitteth purring before the fire. For the cat is cryptic, and close to
strange things which men cannot see. He is the soul of antique
Aegyptus, and bearer of tales from forgotten cities in Meroë and Ophir.
He is the kin of the jungle’s lords, and heir to the secrets of hoary
and sinister Africa. The Sphinx is his cousin, and he speaks her
language; but he is more ancient than the Sphinx, and remembers that
which she hath forgotten.
In Ulthar, before ever the burgesses forbade the killing of cats, there
dwelt an old cotter and his wife who delighted to trap and slay the
cats of their neighbours. Why they did this I know not; save that many
hate the voice of the cat in the night, and take it ill that cats
should run stealthily about yards and gardens at twilight. But whatever
the reason, this old man and woman took pleasure in trapping and
slaying every cat which came near to their hovel; and from some of the
sounds heard after dark, many villagers fancied that the manner of
slaying was exceedingly peculiar. But the villagers did not discuss
such things with the old man and his wife; because of the habitual
expression on the withered faces of the two, and because their cottage
was so small and so darkly hidden under spreading oaks at the back of a
neglected yard. In truth, much as the owners of cats hated these odd
folk, they feared them more; and instead of berating them as brutal
assassins, merely took care that no cherished pet or mouser should
stray toward the remote hovel under the dark trees. When through some
unavoidable oversight a cat was missed, and sounds heard after dark,
the loser would lament impotently; or console himself by thanking Fate
that it was not one of his children who had thus vanished. For the
people of Ulthar were simple, and knew not whence it is all cats first
came.
One day a caravan of strange wanderers from the South entered the
narrow cobbled streets of Ulthar. Dark wanderers they were, and unlike
the other roving folk who passed through the village twice every year.
In the market-place they told fortunes for silver, and bought gay beads
from the merchants. What was the land of these wanderers none could
tell; but it was seen that they were given to strange prayers, and that
they had painted on the sides of their wagons strange figures with
human bodies and the heads of cats, hawks, rams, and lions. And the
leader of the caravan wore a head-dress with two horns and a curious
disc betwixt the horns.
There was in this singular caravan a little boy with no father or
mother, but only a tiny black kitten to cherish. The plague had not
been kind to him, yet had left him this small furry thing to mitigate
his sorrow; and when one is very young, one can find great relief in
the lively antics of a black kitten. So the boy whom the dark people
called Menes smiled more often than he wept as he sate playing with his
graceful kitten on the steps of an oddly painted wagon.
On the third morning of the wanderers’ stay in Ulthar, Menes could not
find his kitten; and as he sobbed aloud in the market-place certain
villagers told him of the old man and his wife, and of sounds heard in
the night. And when he heard these things his sobbing gave place to
meditation, and finally to prayer. He stretched out his arms toward the
sun and prayed in a tongue no villager could understand; though indeed
the villagers did not try very hard to understand, since their
attention was mostly taken up by the sky and the odd shapes the clouds
were assuming. It was very peculiar, but as the little boy uttered his
petition there seemed to form overhead the shadowy, nebulous figures of
exotic things; of hybrid creatures crowned with horn-flanked discs.
Nature is full of such illusions to impress the imaginative.
That night the wanderers left Ulthar, and were never seen again. And
the householders were troubled when they noticed that in all the
village there was not a cat to be found. From each hearth the familiar
cat had vanished; cats large and small, black, grey, striped, yellow,
and white. Old Kranon, the burgomaster, swore that the dark folk had
taken the cats away in revenge for the killing of Menes’ kitten; and
cursed the caravan and the little boy. But Nith, the lean notary,
declared that the old cotter and his wife were more likely persons to
suspect; for their hatred of cats was notorious and increasingly bold.
Still, no one durst complain to the sinister couple; even when little
Atal, the innkeeper’s son, vowed that he had at twilight seen all the
cats of Ulthar in that accursed yard under the trees, pacing very
slowly and solemnly in a circle around the cottage, two abreast, as if
in performance of some unheard-of rite of beasts. The villagers did not
know how much to believe from so small a boy; and though they feared
that the evil pair had charmed the cats to their death, they preferred
not to chide the old cotter till they met him outside his dark and
repellent yard.
So Ulthar went to sleep in vain anger; and when the people awaked at
dawn—behold! every cat was back at his accustomed hearth! Large and
small, black, grey, striped, yellow, and white, none was missing. Very
sleek and fat did the cats appear, and sonorous with purring content.
The citizens talked with one another of the affair, and marvelled not a
little. Old Kranon again insisted that it was the dark folk who had
taken them, since cats did not return alive from the cottage of the
ancient man and his wife. But all agreed on one thing: that the refusal
of all the cats to eat their portions of meat or drink their saucers of
milk was exceedingly curious. And for two whole days the sleek, lazy
cats of Ulthar would touch no food, but only doze by the fire or in the
sun.
It was fully a week before the villagers noticed that no lights were
appearing at dusk in the windows of the cottage under the trees. Then
the lean Nith remarked that no one had seen the old man or his wife
since the night the cats were away. In another week the burgomaster
decided to overcome his fears and call at the strangely silent dwelling
as a matter of duty, though in so doing he was careful to take with him
Shang the blacksmith and Thul the cutter of stone as witnesses. And
when they had broken down the frail door they found only this: two
cleanly picked human skeletons on the earthen floor, and a number of
singular beetles crawling in the shadowy corners.
There was subsequently much talk among the burgesses of Ulthar. Zath,
the coroner, disputed at length with Nith, the lean notary; and Kranon
and Shang and Thul were overwhelmed with questions. Even little Atal,
the innkeeper’s son, was closely questioned and given a sweetmeat as
reward. They talked of the old cotter and his wife, of the caravan of
dark wanderers, of small Menes and his black kitten, of the prayer of
Menes and of the sky during that prayer, of the doings of the cats on
the night the caravan left, and of what was later found in the cottage
under the dark trees in the repellent yard.
And in the end the burgesses passed that remarkable law which is told
of by traders in Hatheg and discussed by travellers in Nir; namely,
that in Ulthar no man may kill a cat.
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