Folks never saw him in church. The church ladies had only visited him once to invite him to services. They decided not to repeat that mistake.
Most people were a little afraid of Smith, and he liked it that way. No one knew why he was so angry and mean, because he had his health and apparently plenty of money to live. In any case, he pretty much stayed in his house, unless he had to walk down to the store to buy something.
Most animals stayed away from Smith, like they could smell how mean he was.
One morning, after a cold rain, the summer sun was shining bright and coaxing the green leaves to bask in the warm sun. Flowers were a-blooming and bees were a-buzzing. It was a fine morning. Then Old Man Smith came striding down the sidewalk.
As he turned a corner and headed to the store, he saw an old queen cat snoozing in the sunshine, right in the middle of the sidewalk. Her fur was black and she was sleeping deeply, letting the sun's heat and the sidewalk warm her bones.
Most folks would have let the cat sleep--or, if she was in the way because they were pushing a cart, they might have fussed at her--or nudged her gently with a foot to get her to move.
Not Old Man Smith. He actually quickened his step when he saw the old cat just sleeping. He walked up without a word and kicked her hard with his heavy boot.
The old cat let out a startled yowl of pain, and sort of flipped back up on the grass, near the yard's rose-bush. She drew herself up in a ball and stared at him. Then she did what any angry cat do. She arched her back and bristled her fur up big. And then she let out a long, angry hiss.
He snarled back, "Hiss at me, will ya!" Then, he started after the cat. This cat didn't bolt and run, but she did back up under the big rose-bush behind her. Smith walked across the grass and kicked at her again.
He missed the cat this time and the thorns of the bush snagged his pants and stabbbed his leg. The cat moved deep under the bush. He pulled his leg out, tearing a small hole in his pants, which just made him madder. The cat's eyes glittered from the shadows while she hissed again.
Smith was plenty mad when he saw that his pants leg was torn up about at his knee. This roes-bush had a lot of big, sharp thorns, so he left the cat alone and stalked off on to the store.
He was angry and sullen--as usual--at the store. As usual, folks avoided making eye contact. As the he rang up Smith's supplies, the storekeeper ventured a comment. "That's a nasty tear on your pants leg. You want to buy some thread to mend it?"
Smith glared hard at the storekeeper. The storekeeper was used to Smith and just stood waiting quietly. Smith looked down at his pants and saw the tear was bigger than he had thought it was. In fact, it looked more like the cat had clawed him, because there were three tears in the trowsers up near his knee, where it looked like a cat's claws had got him.
He looked back up at the storekeeper and said, slowly, "Yeah. I tangled with a cat--and I kicked it." He grinned in a way that could chill folks' blood. After a long pause, he added, "Gimme the thread." The storekeeper rang up the thread and handed him his goods. The men in the store playing checkers said nothing while Smith was there.
Smith walked angrily back to his house. He picked up a rock about the size of his fist to throw at the cat, but when he passed the place where he had seen her, the old black cat was nowhere in sight.
His knee had begun to hurt mightily. Otherwise, he might have gone looking elsewhere for the cat. Smith chucked that rock so hard into the rose-bush that it shook. Then, he limped home.
When he got home, Smith took off his pants to mend them. He noticed that his knee was all swollen up. He cursed the cat and mended his pants, then sat down and put his leg up.
Funny thing, though, the scratches healed up nicely--but his knee never got better. It stayed sore and achy. Folks noticed that he started walking with a cane, which he used to get down to the store. And he didn't walk to the store quite so often. On cold days, he moved slow, but people still stayed out of his way.
It turned out he had the rheumatism and there ain't much cure for it. Eventually the rheumatism spread to his other knee. The church ladies said it was God's punishment, because he had no Christian love in his heart and never went to church.
But the men down at the store telling stories and playing checkers all agreed. One would say, "Should have never kicked that cat." Another would answer, "It be bad luck to kick a cat." Finally, one would say, "Yep, he's got the rheumatism now." Then they'd laugh.
Copyright May 21, 2018, Myth Woodling
Comments
When I was a kid, possibly while I was living in Florida, I heard someone tell me it was bad luck to kick cats. I can't remember in what context I was told this. I might have overheard it. In any case, I was raised to not question the sundry pronouncements made by adults--to do so would have been "impolite."
I know it was not because I was caught kicking cats. My family owned a fluffy white cat named "Cucu," or "Kitty-Kitty-Coo." She was more my sister's cat. Still I knew one had to be kind to cats--or one would get scrached--and the scratch would be the logical and deserved payback for being mean. At some point as a kid, I got a notion that it was especially bad luck to hurt or kick a black cat. This was long before I read the story in which Edgar Allan Poe explored the concept of karmic payback for mutilating--and later killing--a pet cat named “Pluto” in his macabre short story "The Black Cat" published in August 1843. I have always been fascinated by folklore connected to black cats. See Matagots and French Black Cat Lore.
In any case, I asked my parents about the adult pronouncement about it being bad luck to kick cats. Their response was that nobody should be kicking animals. I let the matter drop. Several years later, I read in a list of superstitions in some article, "If you kick a cat, you will get arthritis in that leg." I do not remember any source for this particular "superstition." I have always suspected it was a Southern belief, but if it is, I haven't found out what region it originated in.
The first source I remember reading as an adult was in Gerina Dunwich, Your Magickal Cat: Feline Magick, Lore, and Worship, 2000, which had a list of folk beliefs, including "If you kick a cat, you will develop rheumatism in that leg." The same folk belief was recorded in Vicky Hall's book Cat Counsellor: How Your Cat Really Relates To You, 2006. She lists “superstitions around the world” about cats including, “If you kick a eat, you will develop rheumatism in that leg.” p. 38
I still don't know if this was a genuine Southern folk belief, or if it originates from somewhere else. A quick web search also revealed several places where this "superstition" has been recorded.
The story above is my own cat tale.
Sources
Gerina Dunwich, Your Magickal Cat: Feline Magick, Lore, and Worship, 2000, p. 96
Vicky Halls, Cat Counsellor: How Your Cat Really Relates To You, 2006, p. 38
Cat Proverbs, accessed 5/21/18.
Mimir's Well, Stav Academy Library, accessed 5/21/18.
Cats lead in the list of mythology - Andaman Chronicle, accessed 5/21/18.
Black Cats and Cats in General - SuperstitionsOnline, accessed 5/21/18.
Matagots and French Black Cat Lore
Tales to be Told
"That Hoodoo..." home page