The Black Cat illustrated

Tomorrow, I am to die. This confession, which I now set down with no hope of anything but torment, must serve as an easing of my soul, for to believe myself mad were to doubt my very senses, even as they betrayed me. From my infancy, I was noted for the docility and humanity of my disposition, a tenderness of heart that found its purest delight in the companionship of animals. My wife, too, shared this fondness, and among the many pets we cherished, there was Pluto, a black cat of remarkable size and sagacity. We were inseparable, his affection for me, and mine for him, a bond that transcended the common.

Yet, as the years wore on, the fiend Intemperance began its subtle, insidious work upon my soul. My nature, once yielding, grew sullen and irritable. My words became harsh, my temper quick, and soon, not only my wife but even my beloved pets felt the sting of my changed disposition. Pluto alone, it seemed, retained some shadow of his former regard, but even that, in time, was poisoned. One night, returning home inflamed by drink, I fancied the cat avoided my presence. A fury, blacker than Erebus, seized me. I seized the poor beast, and when, in its terror, it inflicted a slight wound upon my hand, all the slumbering demon within me awoke. With a penknife, I deliberately cut one of its eyes from its socket.

The next morning, a glimmer of remorse pierced through the fog of my debauchery. I shuddered at the atrocity I had committed. But this fleeting regret was soon drowned in deeper draughts of wine, and the spirit of perverseness, that unfathomable longing to do wrong for wrong's sake, took full possession of my soul. It was this spirit, I swear, that drove me to the final, irrevocable act. I put a noose around Pluto's neck and hung him from the branch of a tree, tears streaming from my eyes even as I committed the monstrous deed. The night of that cruel deed, my house burned to the ground, leaving me and my wife bereft, save for one wall that strangely remained standing. Upon its stark surface, etched as if in bas-relief, was the gigantic image of a cat with a rope around its neck.

Though I tried to dismiss it as a mere chemical phenomenon, the image haunted me, a spectral reminder of my guilt. Days later, as I wandered through a disreputable tavern, I encountered another black cat, almost identical to Pluto, save for a large, irregular patch of white fur upon its breast. Its singular eye, too, was missing, a chilling echo of my earlier brutality. Drawn by a mixture of pity and a strange fascination, I brought it home. My wife, though startled by its resemblance to our lost pet, soon grew fond of it. But for me, affection curdled into abhorrence. The cat's persistent devotion, its constant presence, tormented me. And then, the white patch upon its breast began, slowly, insensibly, to assume a hideous shape – the distinct, terrible outline of the very gallows from which I had murdered Pluto.

My hatred for this new cat, which I named Pluto, grew to an unbearable intensity. Its very existence seemed a living reproach, a constant, silent judgment. One day, descending into the cellar of our old house with my wife, the cat followed me, almost tripping me on the stairs. In a paroxysm of rage, I raised an axe to strike it down. My wife, stepping in to prevent the blow, received the full force of the weapon in her brain. She fell dead at my feet, without a groan.

The deed done, a perverse calmness settled upon me. I resolved to conceal the body. With cunning precision, I tore down a portion of the cellar wall, placed her corpse within the cavity, and then, with painstaking care, restored the masonry to its original state. I was certain my secret was safe, and for several days, the absence of the detested cat brought a measure of relief to my tormented mind.

But inquiries were made, and on the fourth day after the murder, officers of the police arrived to conduct a thorough search. I led them through every part of the house, feigning an air of perfect assurance. As they stood in the cellar, I, in my absurd confidence, tapped boastfully upon the very wall that concealed my wife's corpse. From within, a long, loud, and continuous wail, a mingled shriek of horror and triumph, burst upon the air. They tore down the wall, and there, upright and stiff, stood the decaying corpse of my wife, and perched upon her head, with red, open mouth and a single gleaming eye, was the hideous black cat, whose cunning voice had consigned me to the hangman.