Black Cats

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 19^th 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.