A black cat does not know it is supposed to be mysterious.
It knows where the afternoon sunshine falls across the floor.
A black cat does not know it is supposed to be unlucky.
It knows the sound of a familiar voice, the whereabouts of a favorite toy, and which chair someone was foolish enough to leave unattended.
And somewhere beneath that dark little coat is a creature with ordinary wishes.
A warm place.
A gentle hand.
Fresh water and a good meal.
Someone kind to curl up beside.
With Halloween approaching, black cats are appearing on decorations, greeting cards, and front windows again. There they are beside the pumpkins, backs arched, tails curled, looking as though they have been placed in charge of something suspicious and ready to pounce.
Perhaps we ought to give them a different assignment this year.
Being loved would be a good one.
There is an image I have shared over the years that always touches me. An orange kitten appears to have a little black kitten gathered into an embrace. The words offer reassurance . . . .
You Are Not Bad Luck. Do Not Listen To Them.
What stays with me is that small gesture of compassion and companionship.
One little creature beside another —
There is room for you here.
Sometimes, that is all any of us needs to hear, isn’t it?
People have told very different stories about black cats. Some traditions have welcomed them as signs of good fortune, love, and prosperity. Sailors once considered them lucky companions aboard ship.
That is quite a collection of responsibilities to assign somebody who may simply want a comfortable cushion.
A black cat should not have to bring us good luck to deserve our kindness.
The stories belong to people. The cat itself is simply busy being a cat.
A leaf moving across the porch may require investigation. A paper bag may need a thorough inspection. Maybe twice. A neatly arranged blanket may benefit from several adjustments and a nap. Why let a perfectly snuggly, warm blanket go to waste?
The cat has its own concerns.
None of them involves bringing bad luck to the neighborhood. They are much too busy with cat things to be concerned with such human foolishness.
Yet a story repeated often enough can become belief and the first thing we see. Before we have even met the animal, we have already labeled and assigned it a part.
That seems a poor way to begin a relationship.
I would rather begin with a little patience, wouldn’t you?
Watch how this particular cat approaches. Perhaps it is bold and curious. Perhaps it hangs back, needing time to decide whether the world is safe. Perhaps it leans into a gentle touch, or settles nearby without quite being ready for more. Patience.
There is someone to get acquainted with beneath that black coat, regardless the color of its fur.
And getting acquainted is easier when we leave our assumptions at the door.
For anyone considering adoption, I hope the black cats will receive the time and attention they deserve. The black dogs, as well.
If looking to adopt a furry companion, ask the shelter staff about the individual animal — its temperament, its needs, and the kind of home where it might feel comfortable. A lasting match deserves more thought than merely a glance at the color of the fur.
Adoption is a commitment, of course. Every household has its own circumstances, and bringing an animal home is not possible for everyone.
But kindness offers other ways to take part . . . .
We can share an adoption listing.
We can support a local shelter in a way that fits our means.
We can help a child learn to give an animal space, approach gently, and respect its boundaries.
And when an old superstition comes up, we can be generous and offer a kinder thought — “That is simply a cat. Let us see what it is like.”
No lecture required. Just a small opening where an unfair judgment used to be.
Halloween can still have its pumpkins, costumes, and cheerful make-believe. I enjoy a little seasonal fun as much as anyone.
But the living animals among us deserve our everyday care through all of it.
A black cat resting in a window is someone’s companion. The one watching from a shelter enclosure may be waiting to become someone’s companion.
Neither needs to earn kindness by having a different coat.
Perhaps the cat who eventually finds a home will become the household supervisor, inspecting every grocery bag and expressing firm opinions about closed doors and empty food dishes.
Perhaps it will be a dozing companion beside someone reading in the evening.
Perhaps it will curl up beside an older person living alone, bringing a little warmth and company to the quiet hours.
In time, the introductions will become wonderfully ordinary.
“This is our cat.”
And then come the little stories . . . .
The peculiar sleeping position.
The favorite windowsill.
The toy that must be rescued from beneath the furniture again.
We begin to know someone, and that is where affection has room to grow. In both directions.
So this Halloween, I hope we will look a little longer at the black cats, speak a little more gently, and leave the old suspicions and superstitions with the cardboard decorations.
Somewhere, a dark little face may be looking back at us.
A black cat is still somebody’s little somebody.
And if it has not found its somebody yet, I hope it soon will.
Till next time then —
Jim (and Red!)
A Little Red Bear P.S. —
If a black cat crosses your path, it is simply crossing your path. Wish it well and leave enough room for it to get where it is going.
It may have somebody waiting at home.
— Red 🐾
Images have been created for this piece with the assistance of AI . . . . lovingly prepared and styled for Honey Hill Country and the world of Little Red Bear.
