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 the bearer of tales from forgotten
cities in Meroe and Ophir. He is the kin of the jungle's lords, and is heir
to the secrets of hoary and sinister Africa. The Sphynx is his cousin, and
he speaks her language; but he is more ancient than the Sphynx, 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 neighbours. 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 no cherished pet or mouser should stray
towards 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
came.