The King of the Cats
A man's strange encounter in the woods and a secret revealed at home
Page 1
As dusk began to settle over the quiet countryside, a man named John made his way home. He had worked hard in the fields all day, and now his steps were slow but steady along the familiar path. The sun dipped below the distant hills, painting the sky in soft shades of orange and purple. A cool evening breeze rustled through the tall grasses and the last birds sang their goodnight songs. John’s cottage lay nestled in the small village ahead, its chimney promising a warm fire and a good meal. He thought of his wife, Mary, and their cozy home, hurrying his pace just a little. Soon he would be there, leaving the day’s labours behind him in the fading light.
Page 2
To shorten his journey home, John decided to take a shortcut through the old woods that bordered the village. He knew the path well enough, even in the dim light. But tonight, the trees seemed taller and closer, their branches reaching like gnarled fingers across the narrow track. The air grew colder and stiller beneath the thick canopy, muffling the sounds of the outside world. Moonlight, which had just begun to brighten the open fields, struggled to pierce the dense leaves, leaving the path in deep, shifting shadows. John pushed on, a faint feeling of unease stirring within him, wishing he had taken the longer, brighter route.
Page 3
Suddenly, the trees opened into a small, moonlit glade John had never noticed before. And there, in the centre of the clearing, was the strangest sight he had ever witnessed. Not a squirrel, nor a fox, nor even a deer, but dozens of black cats! They sat in a silent circle, their fur gleaming like polished obsidian in the soft moonlight. Their eyes, bright yellow and green, seemed to watch something unseen in the middle of their gathering. John stopped dead at the edge of the glade, hidden by the last few trees, his heart thumping. He dared not move, utterly bewildered by the silent, solemn assembly before him. It was a sight entirely out of the ordinary world.
Page 4
As John watched, nine of the largest black cats began to move. Slowly, with an air of deep solemnity, they formed a procession. They carried between them a tiny, velvet-covered coffin, no bigger than a kitten’s bed. Their steps were measured and silent, their tails held low. They circled an ancient, moss-covered stone in the middle of the glade, their yellow eyes fixed on their solemn duty. The sight filled John with a strange mixture of awe and confusion. What could this mean? Who was in that tiny coffin? And why were cats, of all creatures, performing such a human-like ritual in the deep woods?
Page 5
As the procession neared the mossy stone for the final time, the largest black cat, the one leading the others, suddenly stopped. It lifted its head, its piercing yellow eyes turning directly towards John’s hiding place. A chill ran down John’s spine. The cat opened its mouth, and in a clear, deep voice, it spoke words as plain as any man’s: “Tell Old Muryan that Old Muryan is dead!” Then, just as suddenly, the cat resumed its silent march, and the other cats continued their solemn circuit, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. John stood frozen, the strange command echoing in his ears, his heart pounding like a drum.
Page 6
The moment the cats finished their strange ritual, John turned and fled. He didn't wait to see if they vanished, or if they spoke again. The words of the large black cat echoed in his mind: “Tell Old Muryan that Old Muryan is dead!” He stumbled through the dark woods, ignoring the roots and branches that snagged at his clothes, driven by a desperate need to escape the eerie glade. He pushed himself faster and faster, until at last, he burst out of the dense trees and onto the familiar, if still dim, path leading to his village. The sight of the warm, inviting lights of home through the remaining trees filled him with a profound sense of relief.
Page 7
Without a moment's hesitation, John hurried towards his cottage. He flung open the front door and stepped inside, pulling it shut behind him with a thud. The familiar scent of woodsmoke and cooking filled the air, instantly calming his jangled nerves. He leaned against the closed door for a moment, catching his breath, the last echoes of the speaking cat fading into the comfortable warmth of his home. He was safe now, away from the eerie woods and their strange secrets. But the memory of the black cats and their solemn procession, and especially the chilling words of their leader, was still vivid in his mind, demanding to be told.
Page 8
John found his wife, Mary, sitting by the hearth, her knitting needles clicking softly in the firelight. Their ginger cat, Tom, was curled up on the rug before the warm flames, fast asleep. John immediately launched into his astonishing tale, his voice still trembling a little with the memory of the forest. Mary listened, her eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and concern, her knitting forgotten in her lap. He described the moonlit glade, the dozens of black cats, their solemn procession with the tiny coffin, and finally, the shocking moment when the largest cat spoke directly to him, giving him a message to deliver. The warmth of the fire slowly began to soothe his nerves as he spoke.
Page 9
John took a deep breath, preparing to deliver the most startling part of his tale. “And the cat told me, Mary,” he said, his voice dropping to a serious whisper, “it told me to go home and tell Old Muryan that Old Muryan is dead!” The words hung in the air, a chilling echo from the dark woods. But before Mary could even begin to respond, a rustle came from the hearth. Their ginger cat, Tom, who had been sleeping so soundly, suddenly sprang up. His eyes, usually half-closed and peaceful, were now wide and bright green, fixed on John. Every hair on his body seemed to stand on end, and he looked bigger, somehow, and wilder than they had ever seen him.
Page 10
With a sound that was half-growl, half-shout, Tom suddenly stood tall on his hind legs for just a moment – not like a cat at all! – and declared in a voice deeper than any cat had a right to possess: “Then I’m the King of the Cats!” And with that, before John and Mary could even gasp, their ginger cat darted across the room, bounded through the open window, and vanished into the night. They rushed to the window, peering out into the darkness, but there was no sign of Tom. Only the quiet village street stretched before them, empty and still. They never saw their ginger cat again, and the village, though it held many secrets, had never known a stranger night.
About this story
- Audience: kids (ages 6–12)
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