On this the day of the year’s first snowfall here in the Rockies, I’m sending a shout-out to everyone in honor of National Black Cat Day which some celebrated earlier this past week. It’s only fitting in the runup to Halloween, I suppose. But it’s not something most non-cat-people have heard of – or ever think much about. So then, I offer this small corrective.
I haven’t had a black cat since I was a farm kid. Our barn cat population back then fluctuated based on the mouse supply. Also based on how lucky/unlucky the cats were at crossing the road between house and barn. I guess ya just gotta love frontier life.
A few years ago we did keep a couple of cats in our house for the same rodent-control reasons: Azula, a sleek blue-eyed Persian, and Monster, a fluffy mountain breed. And they did their job well enough. But there was the shedding issue. And our leather furniture did not fare well. Enough said: Those two cats are now ancient history. Along with a couple of dozen others from long lost days of yore.
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In any case, as shortening days wind down from autumn equinox to winter solstice – my favorite season of the year, btw – a certain sense of sobering sets in. It’s not a time for the faint of heart. Perhaps that’s why All Hallows Eve and Dia Di Los Muertos are two prime holidays of a season with a bit of a cutting edge.
I won’t even mention current events – from Gaza, to Kiev, to Lewiston – since each of those is part of a long-running saga not confined to a single season. But the bottom line is this: We forget about Nature-Red-in-Tooth-and-Claw to our own peril. And if a black cat helps us to better remember that fact, then good on them. Minus all the shedding and clawing, of course.
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Here’s an excerpt from a noir novel I’m currently re-reading. Robert Crais captures the spirit of the day quite well, I think.
A Thai place I liked in Sherman Oaks served excellent dry curry squid and duck spring rolls, so I phoned ahead, added an order of ginger rice, and picked up the food a few minutes later. I headed for home…
I parked in the carport, let myself into the kitchen, and set the Thai food next to the sink. I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and carried my gun and the water up to my bedroom loft. I showered, pulled on cargo shorts and a t-shirt, and returned to the kitchen.
A large black cat waited by the takeout bag. He had a fine flat head striped with scars, ragged ears, and he held his head cocked to the side from the time someone shot him with a .22. He licked his lips when he saw me.
“We’re having Thai. Sound good?”
He said, “Naow.”
“Coming up.”
People who live with a cat talk to the cat. It’s inevitable.
I found a Modelo in the fridge, drank some, and set out a plate and utensils for me and a clean dish for the cat. I lifted the takeout containers from the bag, opened them, and forked out four large pieces of squid. The Thai food was generously spiced with bird’s eye peppers, so I rinsed each piece, minced the pieces, and mixed the squid with kibble in his dish. When he saw the food in his dish, he leaped off the counter, raced to his eating place, and growled. This cat was something.
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Happy Black Cat Day, y’all.
Oh, and also this…
