Growing up, I was terrified of cats. Raised with a deeply rooted belief that they were “nasty” and somehow dangerous, I went years avoiding any encounter with them. I was taught to believe that cats carried a certain ominous energy. But my kids? They were the opposite. They’ve always wanted every kind of animal, from dogs to lizards to—yes—cats. For a long time, though, I couldn’t imagine letting a cat into our home.
One night, however, my perspective began to shift. A friend was coming over, and as I stepped outside to greet them, a small cat darted across my path. My reaction? Pure terror. It was in that moment, though, that something shifted inside me. I thought, “Do I really want to live my life being this afraid of any creature on Earth?” That question marked the beginning of a journey that led me to start researching cats and their significance, particularly in Black families.
What I found surprised me. I learned that in many African American households, cats had been viewed with suspicion or even disdain. But historically, cats were a significant part of African culture; they were highly valued for their ability to control pests, protect food sources, and even safeguard homes from disease by killing rodents.
Dogs, on the other hand, were more associated with European origins, where they were primarily used for hunting and herding. The knowledge that African families once embraced cats helped me start to see them in a new light. The knowledge that African families once embraced cats helped me start to see them in a new light.
The movie Black Panther brought another layer to my understanding. In the film, Bast, the panther goddess, is highlighted as a symbol of power, protection, and grace. The story of Bast and her connection to the Black Panther legacy reminded me of the powerful history cats have within African culture. These animals were once revered, yet somewhere along the way, our reverence was replaced with fear. I was beginning to realize that my family’s attitude towards cats had likely been shaped by inherited superstitions from the past.
I also discovered that black cats, were unfairly associated with witchcraft in Western culture, especially during the Medieval period and the Salem witch trials. This irrational fear led to mass killings of black cats, which ironically contributed to the spread of the Black Death as the rat population surged. These stories gave me perspective: the myths and misunderstandings surrounding cats have not only been unfair to the animals themselves but have also prevented us from seeing the practical benefits they bring.
With all of this new information, I decided it was time to bring a cat into my life. At the shelter, I was looking for the tiniest kitten I could find—something small and less intimidating. But as fate would have it, I ended up with a “teenager” cat: a sleek, gold-eyed, cautious black cat with a small white patch on her chest. Her name was Elena, we renamed here Elena-Shuri Bast after the Black Panther's little sister. That little patch, I later read, symbolizes prosperity in some cultures, which felt like a positive sign. From the start, it was as if Elena could sense my lingering hesitation. She didn’t push boundaries; she kept her distance and seemed to respect that I was taking this one step at a time. And I, in turn, gave her space while we adjusted to each other.
Still, I had rules. The first—and possibly most important—rule for any cat in our home: no kitchen access. I wasn’t about to have cats jumping on countertops, especially with the stigma around them in our community. And this rule wasn’t just for the cat; it encouraged my kids to be mindful of what they left out. They quickly learned that keeping food covered and cleaning up properly wasn’t just a general habit—it was necessary if we were going to have a pet. Honestly, having this extra push toward cleanliness helped all of us; it was a small but crucial change that shifted how we kept our home.
Elena and I shared a unique, almost non-emotional way of showing love. She did her job around the house—keeping pests at bay, bringing calm—and I did mine, all while respecting each other’s space. Then one day, Elena managed to slip outside through a cut in our patio screening. It happened more than once, and after the second time, I had a little heart-to-heart with her. I told her, “If you want to be out there instead of in here, I get it—you’re literally a little wild animal who knows how to survive. But what you’re not gonna do is go out there, get a taste for hunting, and then come back in here like nothing happened. I love you, and I need your help around here, but if you go again, don’t come back.”
A month or so later, someone accidentally left the patio door open, and Elena took her chance. We knew she’d found her way out because the potted plant we’d set in front of the cut in the screen was knocked over. This time, she didn’t just hide in the bushes like before; she truly ventured off. I was devastated. I even put up posters around the neighborhood—thinking back, it makes me laugh, putting up posters for a cat that’s got “survivor” written all over her face.
Elena never returned, and as hard as it was, I know she’s out there in the wild, thriving. She was smart, cautious, and knew how to take care of herself. Though I miss her, I’m at peace knowing that she’s exactly where she’s meant to be.
Now, when I think of Elena and cats in general, I no longer feel fear. I feel admiration and respect for their independence and resilience. My journey with Elena taught me that unlearning fear is a process, but it’s also liberating. Cats deserve love and companionship, not suspicion or fear. Embracing Elena, even for a short time, helped me break a cycle of superstition, replacing it with an appreciation for these remarkable creatures.
Comments