H.P. Lovecraft. The Cats of Ulthar
The Cats of Ulthar
by H. P. Lovecraft
Written 15 Jun 1920
Published November 1920 in The Tryout, Vol. 6, No. 11, p. 3-9.
It is said that in Ulthar, which lies beyond the river Skai, no man may
kill a cat; and this I can verily believe as I gaze upon him who sitteth
purring before the fire. For the cat is cryptic, and close to strange
things which men cannot see. He is the soul of antique Aegyptus, and
bearer of tales from forgotten cities in Meroe and Ophir. He is the kin of
the jungle's lords, and heir to the secrets of hoary and sinister Africa.
The Sphinx is his cousin, and he speaks her language; but he is more
ancient than the Sphinx, and remembers that which she hath forgotten.
In Ulthar, before ever the burgesses forbade the killing of cats, there
dwelt an old cotter and his wife who delighted to trap and slay the cats
of their neighbors. Why they did this I know not; save that many hate the
voice of the cat in the night, and take it ill that cats should run
stealthily about yards and gardens at twilight. But whatever the reason,
this old man and woman took pleasure in trapping and slaying every cat
which came near to their hovel; and from some of the sounds heard after
dark, many villagers fancied that the manner of slaying was exceedingly
peculiar. But the villagers did not discuss such things with the old man
and his wife; because of the habitual expression on the withered faces of
the two, and because their cottage was so small and so darkly hidden under
spreading oaks at the back of a neglected yard. In truth, much as the
owners of cats hated these odd folk, they feared them more; and instead of
berating them as brutal assassins, merely took care that no cherished pet
or mouser should stray toward the remote hovel under the dark trees. When
through some unavoidable oversight a cat was missed, and sounds heard
after dark, the loser would lament impotently; or console himself by
thanking Fate that it was not one of his children who had thus vanished.
For the people of Ulthar were simple, and knew not whence it is all cats
first came.
One day a caravan of strange wanderers from the South entered the narrow
cobbled streets of Ulthar. Dark wanderers they were, and unlike the other
roving folk who passed through the village twice every year. In the
market-place they told fortunes for silver, and bought gay beads from the
merchants. What was the land of these wanderers none could tell; but it
was seen that they were given to strange prayers, and that they had
painted on the sides of their wagons strange figures with human bodies and
the heads of cats, hawks, rams and lions. And the leader of the caravan
wore a headdress with two horns and a curious disk betwixt the horns.
There was in this singular caravan a little boy with no father or mother,
but only a tiny black kitten to cherish. The plague had not been kind to
him, yet had left him this small furry thing to mitigate his sorrow; and
when one is very young, one can find great relief in the lively antics of
a black kitten. So the boy whom the dark people called Menes smiled more
often than he wept as he sat playing with his graceful kitten on the steps
of an oddly painted wagon.
On the third morning of the wanderers' stay in Ulthar, Menes could not
find his kitten; and as he sobbed aloud in the market-place certain
villagers told him of the old man and his wife, and of sounds heard in the
night. And when he heard these things his sobbing gave place to
meditation, and finally to prayer. He stretched out his arms toward the
sun and prayed in a tongue no villager could understand; though indeed the
villagers did not try very hard to understand, since their attention was
mostly taken up by the sky and the odd shapes the clouds were assuming. It
was very peculiar, but as the little boy uttered his petition there seemed
to form overhead the shadowy, nebulous figures of exotic things; of hybrid
creatures crowned with horn-flanked disks. Nature is full of such
illusions to impress the imaginative.
That night the wanderers left Ulthar, and were never seen again. And the
householders were troubled when they noticed that in all the village there
was not a cat to be found. From each hearth the familiar cat had vanished;
cats large and small, black, grey, striped, yellow and white. Old Kranon,
the burgomaster, swore that the dark folk had taken the cats away in
revenge for the killing of Menes' kitten; and cursed the caravan and the
little boy. But Nith, the lean notary, declared that the old cotter and
his wife were more likely persons to suspect; for their hatred of cats was
notorious and increasingly bold. Still, no one durst complain to the
sinister couple; even when little Atal, the innkeeper's son, vowed that he
had at twilight seen all the cats of Ulthar in that accursed yard under
the trees, pacing very slowly and solemnly in a circle around the cottage,
two abreast, as if in performance of some unheard-of rite of beasts. The
villagers did not know how much to believe from so small a boy; and though
they feared that the evil pair had charmed the cats to their death, they
preferred not to chide the old cotter till they met him outside his dark
and repellent yard.
So Ulthar went to sleep in vain anger; and when the people awakened at
dawn - behold! every cat was back at his accustomed hearth! Large and
small, black, grey, striped, yellow and white, none was missing. Very
sleek and fat did the cats appear, and sonorous with purring content. The
citizens talked with one another of the affair, and marveled not a little.
Old Kranon again insisted that it was the dark folk who had taken them,
since cats did not return alive from the cottage of the ancient man and
his wife. But all agreed on one thing: that the refusal of all the cats to
eat their portions of meat or drink their saucers of milk was exceedingly
curious. And for two whole days the sleek, lazy cats of Ulthar would touch
no food, but only doze by the fire or in the sun.
It was fully a week before the villagers noticed that no lights were
appearing at dusk in the windows of the cottage under the trees. Then the
lean Nith remarked that no one had seen the old man or his wife since the
night the cats were away. In another week the burgomaster decided to
overcome his fears and call at the strangely silent dwelling as a matter
of duty, though in so doing he was careful to take with him Shang the
blacksmith and Thul the cutter of stone as witnesses. And when they had
broken down the frail door they found only this: two cleanly picked human
skeletons on the earthen floor, and a number of singular beetles crawling
in the shadowy corners.
There was subsequently much talk among the burgesses of Ulthar. Zath, the
coroner, disputed at length with Nith, the lean notary; and Kranon and
Shang and Thul were overwhelmed with questions. Even little Atal, the
innkeeper's son, was closely questioned and given a sweetmeat as reward.
They talked of the old cotter and his wife, of the caravan of dark
wanderers, of small Menes and his black kitten, of the prayer of Menes and
of the sky during that prayer, of the doings of the cats on the night the
caravan left, and of what was later found in the cottage under the dark
trees in the repellent yard.
And in the end the burgesses passed that remarkable law which is told of
by traders in Hatheg and discussed by travelers in Nir; namely, that in
Ulthar no man may kill a cat.