Well, here we go again – my least favorite holiday is on the horizon. No, not National Kale Day – oh, pardon me, I may vomit. And I am not talking Moldy Cheese Day either, although moldy cheese does possess a certain piquant flavor … I digress.
I am speaking, of course, of Halloween, my least favorite holiday because I am black. Black is beautiful and I am the embodiment of that beauty, the living proof. I tell mom that every day, at the top of my lungs, especially when she’s sleeping.
You see, Halloween is difficult for black cats because a strange and altogether unwarranted superstition about us has arisen over the years, dating from as far back as Medieval times in France, Germany and Spain, in those bleak days before Animal Planet. Interesting aside, during that same period we were considered great good luck in Britain and Japan. The Egyptians worshipped us as sacred. Note to self: I must visit Egypt someday – they’ll be thrilled.
Of course, we all know black cats in America became associated with witches, evil omens and treachery with Puritan Pilgrims. Nasty pieces of work, them. They hunted us down, vilified us, even burned us alive on Shrove Tuesday to protect their homes from fire. Idiots. I hate Pilgrims. They burned people too, I know - but, cats? I ask you, isn’t that sick? We are the least trouble of all the animal species and the most lovable. Well, by the time the anti-witch nonsense evaporated we black cats had permanently been labeled as trouble, used as scary Halloween decorations, and sometimes even still tortured.
That’s not good.
You never know, perhaps we really can work magic…