Harry the Magical Cat

 

The feline has been worshipped and scorned since the times of the Ancient World. In Egypt's long history, the domestic cat was indeed worshipped and believed to have a direct line to the gods. When the family cat in ancient Egypt passed on, the entire family would go into a deep mourning period, each member of the family shaving a circle on the top of their heads as a gesture of respect.

As our history moves forward, the domestic cat in medieval times was thought to be evil, an instrument of Satan or the witches Familiar. During that dark time in our history where superstition reigned supreme, thousands of European women were burned for witchery or sorcery – the cats of the town or city were slaughtered as instruments of the devil, and the backlash of this unnecessary slaughter came in the form of the Bubonic Plague, as the rat population, carrying the virus, quadrupled, spreading the deadly disease across most of the continent, whereupon thousands of men, women and children died in the streets.

These day's, it is astounding to me that some people continue to hate cats. When asked why their response is usually vague or simply irrational.

Harry the magic cat came uninvited one day three years ago. My sister opened the front door, and there he stood, asking to come inside. Since that time, Harry has never left, claiming his patriarchal status amongst the two other cats currently living in the home. Interestingly, my sister's other two cats are males and notoriously territorial; they accepted Harry into their domain without so much as batting an eyelid.

Why my sister calls Harry “the magical cat” is he can go outside and come back into the house without using conventional methods, like doors and windows. I have actually witnessed this strange phenomenon.

We'll lockdown for the night, all three cats asleep on my sister's bed, all doors and windows securely closed and bolted. As the house is relatively new, there are no unknown bolt holes or secret exits. (I've checked thoroughly) yet by the morning, walking into the kitchen for that much-needed cup of coffee, Harry is outside the sliding glass doors, looking at me with that famous wry expression. This phenomenon also works the other way; he can be outside, every window and door secured, and walking into the bedroom, and there he is sleeping soundly on the bed.

“Did you let Harry outside last night?”

'No”.

This conversation has occurred more times than necessary; it is now expected that Harry has his own ways, and we leave it at that.

Harry is indeed a magical cat.