Various cultures attribute symbolism of different kinds to the black cat – some bad luck, some good luck; some see them as representations of evil. I consider myself privileged to have spent parts of my life with several wonderful black cats, so I guess I think of them as lucky.
My first black cat was Cindy, a barn cat that somehow made her way into the house. She was about a year older than me, and I’ve been told that she often had to be shooed out of my crib when I was an infant.
My family moved when I was about three-years-old, and Cindy moved with us. We were moving about a half mile across the fields from one hilltop to another hilltop, on my family’s Century Farm, when my grandparents retired and moved to a smaller house. Cindy had a litter of four kittens at the time, and she moved them too, one by one, down one hill and up the other. She was getting pretty tired by the end (since they weren’t newborn kittens; they were a few weeks old and pretty chubby), so my mother helped her bring the last one over.
I even married a man with a black cat, and his having her was a factor in the relationship. He has since admitted that he may have brought her in for a veterinary check-up “unnecessarily” to see me after he had met me at the local pub. His black cat, Trinity, seemed to like him, so I took that as a good sign and agreed to a date…
Orage is not a black cat, but since he is such a great cat I have found a loophole to allow me to include him on my list. Orage was once a blood donor for a transfusion to a sick black kitty who was anemic. So even if he is grey and white, his blood has coursed through the veins of a black cat.
My current black cat is Allie, and maybe I can’t call her mine as my son seems to be her favourite person in the family. Whatever the colour, cats can bring so much companionship and comfort, I could never see myself being without one in my home.
Written by Dr. Janet Comeau, DVM
