The Black Cat

The Black Cat
I do not expect or ask anyone to believe in the strange yet most homely narrative which I am about to write. Crazy would be expected if, when my senses reject their own evidence. But I'm not crazy and I know that this is not a dream. Tomorrow I'm going to die and would relieve my soul today. My immediate purpose is to reveal, simple, succinctly, and without comment, a series ofdomestic events. The consequences of these events have terrified me; I have tortured and finally destroyed me. But do not try to explain them. If you have been horrible for me, others will be less awful than baroque. Later, perhaps, someone whose intelligence will reduce my ghosts platitudes, an intellect more calm, more logical, and far less excitable than my own, able to watch fearfully describethe circumstances, an ordinary succession of natural causes and effects.
From childhood I stood out by the docility and kindness of my character. The tenderness that harbored my heart was so big it came to become the object of ridicule for my teammates. I was especially fond of animals, and my parents allowed me to have a variety. Past him most of the time, and I was never happier than when I wasfeeding and stroking. This trait of my character grew with me and, when I reached manhood, he became one of my principal sources of pleasure. Those who have ever experienced love for faithful and sagacious dog need not bother to explain to me the nature or severity of the remuneration received. There's something generous and selfless love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who hasoften proved false friendship and gossamer fidelity of man.
I married young and had the joy of my wife share my preferences. Watching my taste for domestic animals, lost no opportunity to procure the nicest of them. We had birds, gold fish, a fine dog, rabbits, a monkey and a cat.
The latter was an animal of considerable size and beauty, completely black and sagacious to an astonishing.Referring to his intelligence, my wife, who at heart was not a little superstitious, frequently alluded to the ancient belief that all black cats are witches metamorphosed. Not that I thought seriously, and I only mention because I have just the thing to remember.
Pluto was the name of the cat had become my favorite and my comrade. I just fed him and he followed me everywhere in the house. I was hardstop behind me were walking in the street.
Our friendship lasted so many years, during which (I blush to confess it) my temper and my character is radically altered because of the devil. Intemperance. Day by day I grew more melancholy, irritable and indifferent to the feelings of others. I even talk to my wife or bad and ended up inflicting personal violence. My favorite, of course, also felt thechange in my disposition. Not only neglected, but I got hurt. Toward Pluto, however, retain sufficient consideration to abstain from maltreating, which he did with rabbits, monkeys and even the dog when, by chance or moved by the affection, they came in my way. My illness, however, worsened, then, what is comparable to alcohol disease? -, And finally the same Pluto, which was old and thereforesomewhat petulant, began to suffer the consequences of my bad mood.
One night he came home completely drunk, after one of my wanderings around town, I fancied that the cat avoided my presence. I lifted her up, but, frightened by my violence, he bit my hand slightly. At once came over me demonic fury and no longer knew what he was doing. It was as if the root of my soul separated from my body blow, adiabolical evil but fueled by gin, shook every fiber of my being. Drawing from his vest pocket a penknife, opened it while holding the poor beast by the throat, and deliberately made him jump an eye. I blush, I burn, I shudder as I write so damnable atrocity.
When reason returned with the morning, when I had the dream dissipated fumes orgy night, I felt the horror mingled with remorse at the...