Edgar Allan Poe was born in 1809 and lost both his parents at a very young age; his father ran away and his mother died shortly after. He was brought up by another couple who never adopted him and were often unfriendly with him when he was an adult. Poe went to the University of Virginia, but soon left, saying he could not afford the fees because his ‘father’ did not send him enough money.
Edgar
Allan Poe – The Black Cat
Edgar
Allan Poe was born in 1809 and lost both his parents at a very young age; his
father ran away and his mother died shortly after. He was brought up by another
couple who never adopted him and were often unfriendly with him when
he was an adult. Poe went to the University of Virginia, but soon left, saying
he could not afford the fees because his ‘father’ did not send him
enough money. He joined the Army but could never pass the officer’s exams.
Poe’s ‘father’ only allowed him to
leave the Army after the death of his ‘mother’. Then, he decided to become a
journalist and write fiction. His poem, ‘The Raven’, is one of the most famous
works of horror ever written and his short stories are masterpieces, although
his only novel, Poe said himself, was laughably bad. However we see his work
now, Poe could never get enough money from it to give up his job. His wife,
only thirteen when he married her, died of tuberculosis and Poe
became more confused and alcoholic than he was before. His death is
one of the greatest mysteries in literary history: he was found lying in
the street in another man’s clothes and with his fingers blackened. He died in
1849, without speaking clearly enough to explain how it happened. He was 40.
The Black Cat
Ever since I can remember, I’ve always
been a kind person. I liked pets a lot and, as a result, my parents
bought me many different kinds of animals. Because of this, my friends used to
make jokes and laugh at me because I was not as tough as them.
I loved feeding my pets and playing with them. They were the best things in my life, even after I grew up. I must say, I was always happiest when I had a dog with me. Dogs are wonderful! They are loyal, unselfish and they will always love you even if you treat them badly.
Anyway, when I got married, I was lucky
enough to marry a woman who also liked animals. We enjoyed
having pets around the house so much so that my wife went and bought
as many different kinds as she could find and we could look after: birds,
goldfish, a fine dog, rabbits, a small monkey and a cat. The cat she bought was
very large and beautiful and I liked him very much. He was black all over and
truly clever.
We
named our cat Pluto and he was my favourite playmate. He liked me so much that
he used to follow me around everywhere in the house. He even used to come
outside with me on the street for many years. But, during this time, a strange
thing happened. I had started to notice that my personality was changing! I
hated talking to people – they started to irritate me so much that
I couldn't stand being with them anymore! I even started to get angry
with my wife too, and to swear at her! One day I actually hit
her! Yet, I couldn’t explain why I’d suddenly changed. I hated this side of myself
but there was nothing I could do about it.
Even
as my personality was changing, the only thing I still liked was my black cat
although I began to hate all the other pets. I used to treat them
badly whenever I got the chance. I didn’t give them food or
water. Eventually though, I started getting impatient with Pluto too
and, slowly, mistreating him until he avoided me.
Anyway, the next morning when I woke up
and remembered what I’d done the night before, I had very little feeling of
shame. The cat soon recovered from its injury but it looked terrible – like a
monster with one eye missing, but at least he was not in pain. He ran around
the house in peace but every time he saw me, he ran away in terror.
After some time, I began to feel a
real hatred for this cat. It’s difficult to explain the feeling, but
I started to get irritated by just having the cat around. This
feeling got so strong that it was the only thing I thought about. I knew that
what I wanted to do was wrong but I couldn’t help myself. I’m sure many of us
have felt like this at one time or another in our lives. All I could think
about was killing the cat.
So one morning, I caught it, put a rope
around its neck and hanged it from one of the trees in my neighbour’s
garden. What is strange is that I was crying while I was doing it, and my heart
was telling me it was wrong but that didn’t stop me.
I mean Pluto had done nothing to deserve
this but I killed him anyway. What sort of person does this? I’m afraid even I
don’t know the answer. Perhaps I was a cruel man. My heart kept telling me I
wasn’t but why then was I doing something so spiteful?
Life
went back to normal. Then, one night, I was woken up by the smell of smoke. The
house was on fire! My wife and I and our only servant managed to
escape but the house was completely destroyed. All my valuables were lost in the
fire. It was a difficult time for us.
I couldn’t imagine who was sick enough
to make a drawing like that, but I started thinking that maybe someone had seen
me kill the cat. I simply couldn’t explain what I saw. But as the months went
by, I started to feel sorry for what I had done, so I looked around for another
cat which looked like Pluto.
One
night after we had moved into our new house, as I sat in the living room half
asleep, alone with my thoughts, I suddenly saw a black cat – a very large black
cat – very much like Pluto except this one had a small area of white around its
chest. It got up and seemed very pleased to see me. I too was happy to have
found a cat so like my old favourite, Pluto. He soon became our favourite pet,
and especially my wife’s – she liked it instantly.
However, when things got back to normal
again, I found myself starting to hate this cat too. It began to annoy me, just
as Pluto had. So I started avoiding it but I didn’t have the courage to
harm it. Instead, I kicked it and threw things at it so that it suffered terribly.
My hatred for this cat grew stronger because I’d noticed it also had
one eye missing, like Pluto.
Eventually, I couldn’t ignore my feelings any longer. One day, as I went down into the cellar, the cat followed me and I could think of nothing else but my hatred of it. There in the cellar, I got hold of an axe and was about to cut its head off when my wife took hold of my hand. In a fit of anger, I pushed the axe into her head. She fell dead at once withouNow, anyone else would have panicked, but I was very calm. All I could think of was to find a place to hide the body. I knew that I couldn’t remove it from the house because someone might see me. Finally, I had an idea. All I had to do was bury her in the space between the walls of the house right there in the cellar. The cellar was definitely the best place to put her to rest. And this is what I did.
Now I had to find the cat that had made
me do this and then kill it. I looked everywhere for it, but I couldn’t find
it.
A few days went by and still there was
no cat. It must have left the house forever. I was happy because I thought I’d
never see it again. I was very happy. Of course people asked me about my wife
but I managed to make good excuses. The house was even searched by the
neighbours and the police, but nothing was discovered. I thought that
no-one would ever find out.
Three or four days went by, when
suddenly there was another knock on the door. It was the police again.
This time around they wanted to search the house from top to bottom. I wasn’t
worried or at all scared. I was even relaxed. Of course, they went to the cellar again.
But this time the police were
completely satisfied and
ready to go, but I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted to prove to myself and to
them that I was innocent. “Gentlemen”, I said, as they were going
up the steps, “I am delighted that you accept that I’m innocent.
I wish you all good health. You know this is a very well-made house.” I didn’t
even know why I was saying this. “These walls are solid walls.
Goodbye gentlemen.” I touched the wall where I had buried my wife, well satisfied with
myself.
But
as soon as I touched the wall I heard a voice from behind it. At first it
sounded like the crying of a small child, then it quickly got louder and became
one long scream. This was not a human voice. It couldn’t be! I couldn’t speak.
I couldn’t breathe. I tried to calm down and moved to a different
wall, hoping that the police hadn’t heard anythi
ng – but it was too late. The
police had heard the noise too.t making a sound!