The (Mis)fortune of Black Cats

Myths and superstitions surrounding black cats have been circulating around the world for centuries. In the past, various cultures believed them to be linked to witchcraft and even major historical events, as Franny Syufy of The Spruce Pets blog describes: “roaming nocturnal black cats were thought to be witches in disguise, witches' pets, or animal-shaped demons sent by witches to spy on humans. From the early 13th century in Europe through the 17th-century Salem Witch Trials in Massachusetts, black cats were killed along with those who were considered witches.”

Fortunately, in the UK it is often seen to be lucky for a black cat to cross your path, with Scottish folklore signifying them as signs of prosperity, and Welsh with good health. Despite this hint of optimism towards what black cats symbolise, the bouts of bad luck and misadventures that have happened to me since starting university speak otherwise.

The black cat appeared on my first day of living in student accommodation, during my first time in the kitchen and making my first cup of tea. My rapid stirring of the teabag gradually grinded to a halt as I surveyed a sleek, black-haired cat prowling out from under a car directly in front of me, its dark fur glittering in the sunlight. For a few moments its piercing eyes stared at me through the glass window, my fingers still clasping the teaspoon in the mug but not stirring. The cat turned its back to me and walked away, planting in my mind a vague ominous feeling, like trying to grasp an almost forgotten memory.

Then began the wave of misfortune that would fill my life countless times over the next month. Although most would argue that it was just a coincidence, I like to believe that this cat erupted the excitement and joy that I now feel, pushing my previously boring life to the side-lines by imposing on me multiple scenarios some would call unlucky.

The first and most impactful adverse event that this cat caused happened a mere two days after its appearance out of the kitchen window. After meeting a girl (we’ll call her Sky) at a campus tour when I accidentally tripped her up, we decided to get some coffee from one of the many places on campus to choose from. Scouring the unfamiliar area for somewhere to sit and drink our coffee, we stumbled across Cruickshank Botanical Gardens. Admiring the impressive flora and fauna in the garden, we randomly chose one of the benches dotted amongst the trees and bushes, brushing off the malting orange leaves as we sat down, glad to rest our legs. Then, I watched Sky frown and stand up again, looking back at the bench as if something had stung her. I saw it too; a small, black leather wallet left stranded on the bench.

We looked at each other and smirked, instantly flipping the wallet open, we filtered through its contents. In it there was a man’s credit card, ID and money, all in the hands of two clueless teenagers. We were, however, not so naïve as not to quickly decide that we should hand it in to the police, and so I got the directions to the nearest station on my phone. Gulping down our now cold coffee, we set off following the map, yet still feeling like we were walking in circles with every wrong turn.

Nearly half an hour later, we blundered upon a small police station tucked away between granite houses and sighed in relief. Dragging our feet past the single police car and closed blinds in the window, we tried the door. It was locked. We tried the call-in service. No one answered. We peeked through the tightly closed blinds. No one was inside. Frustrated and shocked, Sky and I began to regret our act of kindness. Yet, being stuck with this stranger’s wallet and now with no avail in sight, Sky debated whether to hand it in to the main police station in the city centre, whilst I debated chucking the wallet into a bush. Going for the former option, the thrill of taking an innocent trip to the police station had worn off, as had the coffee.

Standing and waiting at the bus stop felt like an age. Our legs were even sorer from the unintentional workout, and it was getting late. We were tired and hungry (even more so than usual) and this feeling only increased as we arrived in the city centre twenty minutes later and began our trek to the main police station.

My phone battery drained from using maps on my phone, this time we relied on Sky to direct us to the police station and end this journey. After another good twenty minutes of stopping and starting, turning corners and going round bends, we found it. Marked by the navy-blue symbol of the police force on the windows, we knocked on the glass door surrounded by police cars and security cameras.

Once again, no one answered. Realising this was the staff’s entrance to the station, we groaned our way around the block to the main entrance, fingers crossed as we arrived, finally able to speak to an officer and begin to hand in the cursed wallet. However, the officer at the reception desk said words which made my heart sink: “Unfortunately, we don’t take lost property here, you would have to go to one of our other stations in town… but since they’re not open right now, just this once I’ll take the wallet from you!"

So, the adventure was over. Stuffed away amongst the great sense of exhaustion and relief at what we’d achieved, I felt pride at the effort we’d gone to help someone in need. This unfortunate situation also cemented mine and Sky’s friendship evermore, yet are still weary around each other, since together, we seem to be a beacon of bad luck!

I’ve seen the black cat a few times since, crawling under cars and prancing round corners, and I hope to see it again soon if it means that my otherwise uneventful life is filled, even just for a day, with some perilous adventure and luck.

So, this Halloween, just hope you see one too.

By Rosie Guy