Black Cats

Nothing says Halloween like a pumpkin or jack-o’-lantern.

But right beneath the orange squashes in the pantheon of spooky symbols are ghosts, skeletons, bats, vampires, zombies, witches, and black cats.

How did adorable, ebony felines end up signifying Halloween alongside fictional monsters?

🎃 👻 💀 🦇 🧛 🧟🧙🏼‍♀️ 🐈‍⬛

Generally speaking, black cats are common, domestic kitties with black fur, regardless of breed.

The Cat Fanciers’ Association recognizes 22 breeds that can present black hair, including the Bombay, which only comes in black, but everyday moggies – non-purebred cats – might also tote jet-colored hair.

Dark coats are the result of two recessive genes, meaning both parents need to carry the code for non-agouti expression. The agouti-signaling protein produces a certain type of melanin, which, in cats, creates the dominant tabby coloration. For a cat to be black, it must have two switches set to off to suppress the tiger-like presentation of tabbies. Even if an individual has both recessive genes, tabby encoding is so strong in cats that “ghost” or “smoke” stripe patterns can exist under the coat.

Sunlight can alter melanin because it’s a delicate molecule. If a black kitty spends enough time in the Sun, their coats can “rust,” causing a neat, auburn glow.

Black kitties have so much melanin that it even affects their eyes; nearly every inky cat has yellow or golden irises.

Blood suckers, ghouls, and spirits make sense in a Halloween context.

How does a purring pet come to suggest bad luck or become the companion of evil witches?

Many historians believe the connection begins in medieval reality, though the story becomes twisted over the centuries.

In 1231, Pope Gregory IX sought to regulate the Inquisition. At the time, the search for heretics often turned toward mob proclivities. If European townspeople sniffed out heresy, the alleged offender would likely be burned without a trial. Gregory wanted to give the accused the chance to clear up misunderstandings, as killing the innocent is obviously something to avoid.

The 1200s were filled with Luciferian hysteria; anyone who didn’t display Catholic beliefs was in league with the Devil. Gregory sent out Inquisitors to root out these heretics, but they were instructed to do so methodically and fairly.

In 1233, a priest tasked with the Inquisition, Konrad von Marburg, was hard at work uncovering Luciferians in Germany when he came across a shocking situation. He forwarded information to Pope Gregory about a cult that was infiltrating local dioceses.

A member of the offending sect would approach a potential initiate in the form of a giant toad. Then, an ashen, gaunt man appeared. Through some form of persuasion, the man would goad the initiate to kiss him, at which point the person would forget all they knew about Catholicism. Next, all members of the cult would meet for a ceremonial meal with the new member. At the end of the ritual, the statue of a black cat would animate and saunter backward with an erect tail. The new member and the sect’s leader would then kiss the cat’s rear end. Naturally, the group then snuffed all the candles in the room and engaged in orgies, including those of a homosexual character. Finally, the group would relight the candles, after which a man, heretofore standing in the corner on his own, would emerge “shining like the sun” from the torso and above, while his bottom half was “shaggy like a cat.” This signaled the end of the get-together, after which the members of the sect dispersed in an attempt to snag more wayward souls.

Obviously, Gregory could not abide such a circumstance. So, he issued a decretal called Vox in Rama, which condemned the practice and issued a crusade against its implementation.

There was one major problem with Konrad von Marburg’s claim: he gathered his intel through torture or the threat of torture.

A papal officer named Bernard wrote to Pope Gregory that Konrad had intimidated people with the notion that they would be burned at the stake should they not confess to the plot. Some historians believe Konrad poked the wrong constituents, as he ended up dead, potentially at the hands of an agent of the Count of Sayn.

No evidence exists to show a demonic-toad-cat-orgy sect ever transpired, but Vox in Rama was out in the wild.

How the popular perception then transformed into a gloomy one for black cats overall is just as murky as the origin of Gregory’s missive. A few researchers have posited that Vox led to a spate of cat killings, which then ushered in a cascade effect when the Black Death arrived in Europe in the 1340s. The logic chain follows that the dearth of cats produced a boon for rats, which carried the plague to cities across the continent. If true, this connection would have pushed the reputation of cats toward negativity. Historian Donald Engels also believes that Vox solidified the link between the Devil and cats. As Europe’s fascination with witchcraft grew through the Middle Ages, somehow the cats followed.

Once again, the conclusions are tenuous.

First, Vox in Rama didn’t generalize cats or black cats as evil. Yes, a black cat was involved in the story of the sect, but Pope Gregory didn’t condemn every kitty as an agent of the Devil. In fact, contemporary Catholic documents explicitly permit members of the clergy and monastic orders to keep cats.

Second, no archaeological evidence displays mass killings of cats in the 13th century.

Third, plague vectors turned out to be much more common than rats; cats can carry the bacterium just as well as their prey.

And perhaps the most perplexing nugget is that Vox only went to a few select leaders in Germany. How did word spread about the evilness in cats when the powers-that-be seemed more inclined to silence Konrad von Marburg than roll with his accusations?

Further clouding the proposition is the lack of universality in this sentiment. In many parts of the world, black cats are considered to be good luck!

In England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, black cats often usher in positive tidings and health, sometimes in association with the goddess Brigid. Sailors frequently attempted to snag a black ship’s cat to keep luck on the good side. In Chile, black cats aid in the search for the legendary carbunclo’s treasure; in Japan, black Maneki-neko figurines portend serendipity; likewise, in Germany, Italy, Latvia, and Thailand, black kitties equate to wealth, health, and felicity.

Still, ancient and modern examples of superstition abound, linking black cats to negativity. The Cat-sìth haunted the Scottish Highlands. The Space Shuttle program went to great lengths to avoid a mission numbered 13, potentially in deference to the mishap on Apollo 13. The crew for STS-13, which was eventually flown as STS-41C, poked fun at the situation with a mission patch emblazoned with “13” and a black cat (interestingly, the flight even landed on Friday the 13th!). Many pet shelters claim black cats are more difficult to rehome, indicating that perhaps the assocation wth bad luck persists.

At this point, the black cat has cemented its place among the Halloween upper echelons, no matter how little sense the historical antecedents make.

Obviously, no scientific data point toward a congruence between black cats and bad luck, or good luck for that matter.

But the eye test proves one thing clearly: these kitties certainly are adorable!