
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