Weird Cat Stories Novels & Stories

{9} This latter was a remarkably large and beautiful animal, entirely black, and sagacious to an astonishing degree. In speaking of his intelligence, my wife, who at heart was not a little tinctured with superstition, made frequent allusion to the ancient popular notion, which regarded all black cats as witches in disguise. Not that she was ever serious upon this point—and I mention the matter at all for no better reason than that it happens, just now, to be remembered. Pluto—this was the cat’s name—was my favorite pet and playmate. I alone fed him, and he attended me wherever I went about the house. It was even with difficulty that I could prevent him from following me through the streets.

Old Mer, young Mer. “Old cats, young cats, big cats, small, striped cats, spotted cats, short and tall,” Aislen murmured a childhood poem. “But what is the point of what I’m seeing? It is beautiful, and rather Utopian in a Lost Island in the middle of nowhere sort of way.”

I heard once that fact is stranger than fiction, and even though I felt like I was in the middle of some sort of strange, surreal dream, the facts were all there. I’d met a man in the middle of the street in the dead of night. He’d just appeared out of nowhere. I’d taken him home, slept with him, and then woken up to his accusations that I was taking pills to hide my wolf. My mother corroborated his story and told me her back story. It was unbelievable on the surface—I mean, come on—but I had no choice but to believe it. Both stories lined up in an uncanny way. I could deny it all I wanted, but there had to be some truth to it.

I don't know what was funnier, the fact she was referring to Catherine as a real raccoon, or that she was telling the story with a straight face. “Is that so?” My father asked, giving me a curious look. “What happened?” I cleared my throat and continued the story. “The restaurant was near a forested area, and the staff did not notice the raccoon walking in. Luckily, no one got hurt.” “Yeah,” Ivy agreed, pressing her hand to her chest. “I was so shocked when I saw it that I threw my curry at it. It was much easier to tame after that.” I pressed my wrist against my lips, holding back more laughter. She sure had an active imagination. In my head, Catherine had morphed into a raccoon, and I was

I didn’t even remember what dumb joke she’d been making when she saved herself in my contacts like that, but it still made me grin like an idiot every time it popped up. Her first message was a wall of text. Carolina 🐱 Destiny Guide (accept no substitutes): Sabia que gatos são mágicos? I read somewhere that cats can walk between worlds. Maybe Goose is secretly a rookie gato guiding you through your firefighter jungle. Don’t roll your eyes. I can feel you rolling them. 🙄 I snorted, shaking my head. Goose cracked one eye open as if even he knew she was talking about him. Another buzz. Then another.

Noel Noel widened his eyes for a bit from shock as he smiled. "…I see." He reminisced about the ending of the book. The cat was actually blind because at that time, black cats were said to have connection with witches and is said to bring bad luck to people, so some townspeople threw stones to the cat until it got blind. One day, the cat felt like it was taken care by someone, and after she heals, she embarked into a journey to find the personwho healed her.

“There’s a few funny ones for kids. Don’t kill giants or you’ll have bad luck is one of them, another was to never pull a cat's tail.” “Why not?” “If you pull a cat’s tail you’re destined to be beheaded.” “Oh. That’s violent. Ours aren’t really like that.” “What’s one of yours?” “That’s its bad luck to cross the path of a black cat.” He snickers and adds, “You’ll like this one, if you pull on a Tricksters ears, they will grant you a wish.” I didn’t just laugh at that one, I practically cackled like a witch.

then declaring our four new feral cats a “no-bath brigade.” The only reason that stubborn kid finally sat still for three spoonfuls of rice was because Zane bribed him with a story about a monster truck that danced on the moon. I could not tell which was the bigger betrayal of logic: my son or that damn man who made nonsense sound sensible.

The air is so thick I swallow it with my exhale. "Where are your yoga mats," my mother asks as she's playing with a tub of lucky rabbit's feet? I urge my mother to buy one. I don't believe in luck, but I can use all the silly help I can get with Jeremy's life on the line. "Over there by my cat," the odd elderly witch-like woman says as her eye patch snaps from her adjustment of it. The lady points at a freak show cat with a drooping pink nose and two empty eye sockets. My goosebumps have made their way to my pores and not in a good way. This Guru for You store is where people get kidnapped in my nightmares.

--- Dinner is simple. Soup. Bread. Wine. The three of us around the table, talking about nothing important. Mireille tells a story about a cat she had as a child — a mangy thing she found in the alley behind their house. Celeste pretended to be allergic so their father wouldn't make her get rid of it. "You faked an allergy?" I ask. "For three years." Celeste almost smiles. "It was worth it." "What happened to the cat?" "She ran away." Mireille's voice softens. "Right before our mother died. I always thought she was trying to find her."