«The Cats of Ulthar» by HP Lovecraft

It is said that in Ulthar, which lies beyond the river Skai, no man may kill a cat; and I can certainly believe this as I look upon the one who lies purring before the fire. For the cat is cryptic, and close to those strange things that man cannot see. He is the soul of ancient Egypt, and the bearer of tales of forgotten cities in Meroe and Ophir. He is kin to the lords of the jungle, and heir to the secrets of far and dark Africa. The Sphinx is his cousin, and he speaks her language; but he is older than the Sphinx, and remembers that which she has forgotten.

In Ulthar, before the townspeople forbade the killing of cats, there lived an old peasant and his wife, who delighted in catching and killing the cats of their neighbours. Why they did this I do not know; except that many people hate the voice of the cat in the night, and think it wrong for cats to run stealthily about yards and gardens at dusk. But whatever the reason, this old man and his wife delighted in catching and killing every cat that came near their cottage; and, from the noises that were heard after dark, several of the villagers imagined that their manner of killing them was extremely peculiar. But the villagers did not discuss these things with the old man and his wife; because of the habitual expression on their withered faces, and because their cottage was so small and so darkly hidden under some scattered oaks in a neglected back-yard. The truth was, that the more the owners of the cats hated these strange people, the more they feared them; and, instead of confronting them as brutal murderers, they were only careful that no pet or prized mouser should stray into the remote cottage beneath the dark trees. When by some unavoidable oversight a cat was lost from sight, and noises were heard after dark, the loser would mourn helplessly; 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 did not know whence all the cats came.

One day a caravan of strange pilgrims from the South entered the narrow, cobbled streets of Ulthar. Dark were these pilgrims, and unlike the other wanderers who passed through the city twice a year. In the market they saw fortune for silver, and bought merry beads from the merchants. What land these pilgrims belonged to no one could say; but they were seen to be engaged in strange prayers, and they had painted upon the sides of their wagons strange figures, of human bodies with the heads of cats, and eagles, and rams, and lions. And the leader of the caravan wore a headdress with two horns, and a curious disc between the horns.

In this singular caravan there was a little boy, without father or mother, but with only a little black kitten to look after. The plague had not been kind to him, but had left him this little furry thing to ease his pain; and when one is very young one may find great relief in the lively antics of a little black kitten. Thus the boy, whom the dark folk called Menes, smiled oftener than he cried as he sat playing with his graceful kitten on the steps of a strangely painted wagon.

On the third morning of the pilgrims’ 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 the noises they had heard in the night. And as he heard this, his sobbing gave way to reflection, and finally to prayer. He stretched out his arms towards the sun and prayed in a language which none of the villagers could understand; though they did not try very hard to do so, for their attention was absorbed by the sky and the strange shapes which the clouds were assuming. This was very peculiar, for as the little boy uttered his petition, the shadowy and misty figures of exotic things seemed to form above; of hybrid creatures crowned with horned-sided disks. 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 to find that in all the village there was no cat. From every home the family cat had disappeared; the small cats and the large ones, black, grey, striped, yellow and white. Kranon the Elder, the burgomaster, swore that the evil folk had taken the cats in revenge for the death of Menes’s kitten, and he cursed the caravan and the little boy. But Nith, the gaunt notary, declared that the old peasant and his wife were probably the most suspects; for their hatred of cats was notorious and, more than a little, shameless. Yet no one dared to complain to the evil pair, though Atal, the innkeeper’s son, swore that he had seen every cat in Ulthar at dusk in that cursed courtyard beneath the trees. They walked slowly and solemnly round the cottage, two in a line, as if performing some beast-rite, of which nothing had been heard. The villagers did not know how much to believe in so small a child; and though they feared that the wicked pair had bewitched the cats to their death, they preferred not to confront the old peasant until they found him outside his dark and repulsive yard.

So Ulthar fell asleep in fruitless sulkiness; and when the people awoke at dawn, behold, every cat was back at its accustomed hearth! Great and small, black, grey, striped, yellow, and white, not one was missing. They appeared very bright and fat, and loud with purring satisfaction. The citizens talked to one another of the event, and marvelled not a little. Kranon the Elder again insisted that it was the sinister people who had taken them away, for the cats did not return alive from the cottage of the old man and his wife. But they 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 cats of Ulthar, bright and languid, did not touch their food, but only dozed before the fire or in the sun.

It was a full week before the villagers noticed that no lights were turned on in the cottage under the trees at dusk. Then gaunt Nith remarked that no one had seen the old man and his wife since the night the cats had been away. The following week the burgomaster resolved to conquer his fears and call at the silent dwelling as a matter of duty, though he was careful to take with him as witnesses Shang the smith and Thul the stone-cutter. And when they had broken down the frail door they found only this: two cleanly fleshless human skeletons lying on the earthen floor, and a variety of curious insects crawling about in the shadowy corners.

There was much to be said among the citizens of Ulthar afterwards. Zath the coroner argued at length with Nith the gaunt notary; and Kranon and Shang and Thul were showered with questions. Even little Atal, the innkeeper’s son, was questioned closely and given a piece of candied fruit as a reward. They spoke of the old peasant and his wife, of the caravan of sinister pilgrims, of little Menes and his black cat, of Menes’s prayer and of the sky during that prayer, of the doings of the cats on the night the caravan left, or of what was later found in the hut under the trees in that foul courtyard.

And at last the citizens passed that extraordinary law, which is reported by merchants in Hatheg and discussed by travellers in Nir, namely, that in Ulthar no man may kill a cat.

FIN