A few weeks ago, I was in London, getting ready to come home. Travel is amazing, and I do love a good
adventure, but I am always ready to come home.
I was leaving my hotel to get to Heathrow airport at 5 am. The hotel had called a car service for me, as
it was too early for the trains to be running.
As I walked out of the lobby I saw the car, an unmarked
black vehicle, and had the split second thought of turning it away. Every
tourist book/blog/post you read says to avoid the unmarked cars- to only travel
in clearly marked taxis. But the thought was fleeting. The hotel had provided
the service, so I thought it must be trust worthy. And only a few days ago a clearly marked taxi
had taken us to the wrong place- twice! So I figured an unmarked black vehicle
was fine to take me to the airport.
The streets of London are small. They are narrow. And
at 5 am it was pitch black outside. It was cold, and rainy. The routes were
unfamiliar, and driving on the left side of the road, even after a week of
experiencing it, was still a bit disorienting.
I was sitting in the back of the car, a large SUV, thinking
of home, when all of a sudden the driver pulled to the side of the road. He
then proceeded to turn off the car, pull his keys out of the ignition, and sit,
completely still.
“Um….Sir?” I asked hesitantly. “Why are we stopped?”
“I tell you in a minute!” he chuckled, in his thick Indian
accent.
This is when the panic started to bubble up inside of me.
I’m in the unmarked car. I’m a blonde, clueless, American girl, who has never really been anywhere
and is not super Euro savvy. I have no idea where we are in the city.
Images of people coming out of the shadows to abduct me
filled my mind.
I’d watched the news specials on human trafficking. I’d seen Taken.
Who was going to be my Liam Neeson? Is there even anyone who would come looking
for me?
I was imagining leaving my stuff, jumping out of the car,
and running.
But where would I go? They
would find me.
And the driver just sat. Still. Quiet.
This went on for what seemed like eons, while I became more
and more unnerved, and my imagination ran wild with every worst-case
scenario.
And then, just like that, he put the keys in the ignition,
started the car, and began to drive.
I was still nervous. “Um…Why
did we stop?” I’m sure he could hear the fear in my voice.
“Well.” He stated. “Not everyone is a believer like me... But
I will tell you... A black cat crossed my path.”
“A what?”
“A black cat.”
I listened, dumbfounded, as he gave his
explanation. “I know that when a black cat crosses my path, it is a sign from
God to stop. And to listen. It is a sign that something bad will happen, if I
don’t give God a moment of my time.” He
then proceeded to tell me about the time a black cat crossed his path, and he
didn’t stop or listen. He was in a horrible car crash, was in the hospital,
totaled his car, had a difficult rehabilitation. All because of the black cat
warning that he didn’t heed.
“Now, any time I see a black cat cross my path,” he explained,
“I stop. I listen. If I am driving, I stop the car for a full minute, to show
God that I am here, I am aware, and that I believe.”
I wanted to laugh, half from complete relief that I wasn’t
being sold into a human trafficking ring, and half at the absurdity. “Well,” I told him, “You would HATE my house. I actually have a
black cat as a pet!”
“Oh!! My goodness!!!” It was his turn to laugh, a nervous
laughter. “That is not very good news for your friends!” he said.
To say I have been unlucky in love would be an
understatement. I’m loyal to a fault, and have what my cousin calls “marathon
crushes” that never pan out.
All you have to do is read one of my posts here to know of this unlucky
streak that has lasted for the last 20 some odd years…And these are only the stories that I share...
And it just so happens, I’ve owned black cats for the last
20 years.
I’ve had a black cat since I was 13. When I was 13 I had
Kitty, who I brought home from the mall one day, and my mom didn’t have the
heart to take back. Kitty was amazing. He was huge, and fluffy, and tough. He
loved to cuddle, and would drool when he was happy and mellow. And now I have
Manny, my trusted companion of the last 11 years. He has been my one constant
in the last decade. Manny is little and
scrappy and moody, and hates every other living thing- Except me. Manny LOVES me.
Could it be that Kitty and Mandrake are the cause of my
predicament? I decided to look into the
matter.
Superstitions around black cats have been around for
centuries. In the Middle Ages there was the belief that black cats were demons,
and worked with the Devil. The Puritans believed the black cat was a
companion of witches, and that the witches were actually turning themselves into the
black cats to spread mischief, so anyone with a black cat would be severely
punished. Scottish folklore has a giant
black cat that was believed to steal a dying persons soul before it was claimed
by God. “The Black Cat” is the title of
an Edgar Allen Poe short story, that details a mans descent to madness and
murder- all brought on by the love, and then hate, of his black feline friend.
Other superstitions with the black
cat bringing bad luck include meeting a black cat early in the morning (I meet one
every morning…), and having a black cat turn it’s back on you (this happens to
me at least 15 times a day!!).
But then the history and stories get murky. Pirates in the
19th century believed that if a black cat walks TOWARDS you, bad
luck will come, but if the cat walks AWAY from you, good luck is on its way. (If this was the case, my luck changes every 10 minutes).
There is also other folklore about
good luck associated with black cats. There are some cultures who believe it is
good luck to possess a black cat (check!), to have a black cat greet you at
your door (double check!!), and to have a black cat enter your home (triple
threat!).
And, perhaps my favorite, a single
woman in Japan is said to want to own a black cat, because they believe it will
bring many worthy suitors. (Maybe I should move to Japan?...)
So perhaps Manny isn’t a demon
(although, those who have met him may beg to differ).
Maybe he isn’t bad luck, but an
omen, like my driver believed.
Maybe I don’t pause enough.
Maybe I’m not still.
Maybe I’m not listening.
Maybe I need to show God that I am
here.
That I am aware.
That I believe.
