(no subject)
I felt compelled to write an interesting account from the past few days and it almost evolved into an essay. Hopefully you enjoy it.
A black cat , twice this week, has appeared to me. Though it is yet to "cross my path", the distance between we two diminishes with each encounter.
Our first encounter was at the east end of Kirkhof, slightly before the Carillon's midnight tolling. A story idea had fizzled out hours before, leaving an unsatisfying mess of words, syntax and the paltry metaphors of desperation. 30 minutes passed without any positive additions. Watching an episode of That 80's Show would have been more productive. Stress itched under my skin and I felt the cool night air could alleviate it. The brisk air, snapping upon my exposed palm like a forceful five, lifted my spirits some. The sonorous crooning of Frank Sinatra- thanks to my mp3 player- didn't hurt either. I energetically hopped over a railing-without falling or misaligning anything- and strode to the sidewalk through the snow. Upon touching padded soul to pavement, I saw the small feline poised perfectly upon the sidewalk at the hill bottom. He rested casually upon his haunches but his front paws were ready for the slightest movement of any prey foolishly betraying its position. There was almost a satisfaction to his stance. I tried to slink closer for a closer look, hoping that my being downwind would mask the sound behind my movements. He responded by inching away, to which I responded with an even closer inching. We traded off like this for about a minute until his boredom urged him to rush toward the Zumberge Library, slinking away like a miniature panther out to stalk an illusive field mouse or vole. Though his eyes are obscured by distance, I can only imagine the piercing stare. Like a scalpel precisely slicing into its prey, the victim's heavy fear would billow out and cement it in place. Before the flee or fight instinct could even kick in, the feline would already engulf the shivering mass of fur and fright. Unable to keep up, I expected this to be my last sighting.
On my way home from an evening of Rock Band, I happened upon another black cat, this time right before my very door. A black flash in the night, my certainty of having actually seen something was low until a cautious head peeked around the corner. Those feline ears were unmistakable. An amber gaze kept mine company in the night for a moment before darting back to the hunt. My thoughts, with their fantastical flair, immediately made the leap to fate, regardless of the fact I believe in nothing of the sort.
A question dominated my thoughts: how have black cats been portrayed throughout history? More often than not in Western folk lore, the black cat signifies the beginning of bad luck. Associations with pagans and the occult, have led to a negative stereotype for these creatures. Though few believe it, the first thought that came to my mind was one of impending doom. Through some Wikipedia snooping I stumbled upon other negative beliefs. For example, many Romanians and Indians still regard these creatures as sources of sorrow. Central Europeans share a similar fear. The Irish have a particularly uplifting view of the creatures, claiming that an encounter with one such animal under the golden moonlight foreshadows a great epidemic. Its the eternal pessimist in our Irish blood. Yet in Egyptian and Roman society cats were sacred. In Italy and Spain, cats of black pigmentation are regarded as portends of coming good luck. One of my favorite beliefs stemmed from Scotland, where meeting a black cat upon your porch is a pretense to celebrate, for great prosperity will soon come.
I guess it really depends upon your perspective: do you expect the worst or hope for the best? Do you wait for the black cat to meet you on your doorstep, embracing its gift? Do you hide in the a corner in constant fear of the promised epidemic? Or do you seek out the cat, ignoring what has been said to better decide for yourself? Though I've often feared epidemic or relied upon that chance encounter, the third option sounds best by far. Although it never hurts to appease any wandering epidemic omens with milk.
A black cat , twice this week, has appeared to me. Though it is yet to "cross my path", the distance between we two diminishes with each encounter.
Our first encounter was at the east end of Kirkhof, slightly before the Carillon's midnight tolling. A story idea had fizzled out hours before, leaving an unsatisfying mess of words, syntax and the paltry metaphors of desperation. 30 minutes passed without any positive additions. Watching an episode of That 80's Show would have been more productive. Stress itched under my skin and I felt the cool night air could alleviate it. The brisk air, snapping upon my exposed palm like a forceful five, lifted my spirits some. The sonorous crooning of Frank Sinatra- thanks to my mp3 player- didn't hurt either. I energetically hopped over a railing-without falling or misaligning anything- and strode to the sidewalk through the snow. Upon touching padded soul to pavement, I saw the small feline poised perfectly upon the sidewalk at the hill bottom. He rested casually upon his haunches but his front paws were ready for the slightest movement of any prey foolishly betraying its position. There was almost a satisfaction to his stance. I tried to slink closer for a closer look, hoping that my being downwind would mask the sound behind my movements. He responded by inching away, to which I responded with an even closer inching. We traded off like this for about a minute until his boredom urged him to rush toward the Zumberge Library, slinking away like a miniature panther out to stalk an illusive field mouse or vole. Though his eyes are obscured by distance, I can only imagine the piercing stare. Like a scalpel precisely slicing into its prey, the victim's heavy fear would billow out and cement it in place. Before the flee or fight instinct could even kick in, the feline would already engulf the shivering mass of fur and fright. Unable to keep up, I expected this to be my last sighting.
On my way home from an evening of Rock Band, I happened upon another black cat, this time right before my very door. A black flash in the night, my certainty of having actually seen something was low until a cautious head peeked around the corner. Those feline ears were unmistakable. An amber gaze kept mine company in the night for a moment before darting back to the hunt. My thoughts, with their fantastical flair, immediately made the leap to fate, regardless of the fact I believe in nothing of the sort.
A question dominated my thoughts: how have black cats been portrayed throughout history? More often than not in Western folk lore, the black cat signifies the beginning of bad luck. Associations with pagans and the occult, have led to a negative stereotype for these creatures. Though few believe it, the first thought that came to my mind was one of impending doom. Through some Wikipedia snooping I stumbled upon other negative beliefs. For example, many Romanians and Indians still regard these creatures as sources of sorrow. Central Europeans share a similar fear. The Irish have a particularly uplifting view of the creatures, claiming that an encounter with one such animal under the golden moonlight foreshadows a great epidemic. Its the eternal pessimist in our Irish blood. Yet in Egyptian and Roman society cats were sacred. In Italy and Spain, cats of black pigmentation are regarded as portends of coming good luck. One of my favorite beliefs stemmed from Scotland, where meeting a black cat upon your porch is a pretense to celebrate, for great prosperity will soon come.
I guess it really depends upon your perspective: do you expect the worst or hope for the best? Do you wait for the black cat to meet you on your doorstep, embracing its gift? Do you hide in the a corner in constant fear of the promised epidemic? Or do you seek out the cat, ignoring what has been said to better decide for yourself? Though I've often feared epidemic or relied upon that chance encounter, the third option sounds best by far. Although it never hurts to appease any wandering epidemic omens with milk.