Page 6 - Edgar Allan Poe

THE BLACK CAT This tale is about a man whose behaviour degenerares because of hard drinking. For the strange yet home-made story that I set out to write in writing, I don't expect or ask to be believed. It would be foolish to expect it as a case in which my senses refuse to believe in themselves. And yet I'm not mad; and certainly not dream. But tomorrow I will die and today I want to release the soul of this weight. My immediate aim is to put before the world in a clear, succinct manner, a series of simple domestic events that in their consequences have terrified me, tortured me, destroyed me. They haven't given me that horror, to many they will seem more outlandish than horrible. From childhood I stood out for the docility and humanity of my character. My kindness of heart was such that I was even ridiculed by my companions. I especially liked animals, and my parents allowed me to keep a great variety of them. I spent my time with them, and nothing made me happy about feeding them and caressing them. This peculiarity of my character grew with age; having become a man, I derived from it one of my greatest sources of pleasure. I got married early, and I was lucky enough to find in his wife a natural that fit very well with mine. Observing my weakness for these domestic favorites, it did not allow for an opportunity to get more pleasant. We had birds, goldfish, a beautiful dog, rabbits, a monkey and a "cat". The latter was a remarkably developed and beautiful animal, entirely black; and an extraordinary sagacity2. Speaking of his intelligence, my wife, who after all was not a little devoted to superstition, made frequent allusions to the ancient popular belief that all black cats are camouflaged witches. Not that he ever said "seriously"; if I mention it, I do it simply because right now, by pure chance, it came back to me. Pluto - this was our cat's name - was my favorite, my playmate. I only fed him, and he followed me everywhere where I was going. Only with difficulty could I stop him from following me down the street. Our friendship lasted for so many years during which my temperament and my character in general - under the influence of the Demon Intemperance3 (I confess with shame) - went radically altering for the worse. Day by day I became more restless, more irritable, more indifferent to other people's feelings. I allowed myself to address immoderate words to my wife. I ended up also using violence. Naturally my favorites too had to feel the change in my character. Not only did I abandon them, but I treated them badly. Towards Pluto, however, I had enough consideration to keep myself from mistreating him, while I had none at all for rabbits, the monkey and even the dog, when by chance or to The protagonist since childhood has always had a great passion for animals. He is particularly fond of a black cat called Pluto. As time passes, he begins to dislike the cat and to be increasingly aggressive towards the cat...