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He hangs the cat, not because it did him any wrong, but because of precisely the opposite: When he gets another cat, he can't help feeling the same way toward it, and the pressure builds inside him until he takes an axe to it, and when his wife stops him, he kills her with the axe, bricks up her corpse inside the wall, and when the police come and search his house, they don't find her until he can't help himself--he taps the wall until there's a wailing shriek from inside, and the police uncover the corpse and there is the cat too, "whose informing voice had consigned me to the hangman.

Nonetheless, this tale isn't too heavy-handed about any of this. It works on a purely narrative level in the same deliciously macabre way of Poe's best work, and provides another keen insight into irrationality and the demons lurking inside the human heart. View all 17 comments. This depicts a man who has completely lost himself to his illness.

He was once happy. He was once sane. He had a loving wife and a warm home full of pets. But, his illness took over; it sent him into fits of blind rage in which he abused that which he professed to love; he neglected his animals and beat his wife. However, for a time, he left his favourite amongst them in peace. He left his beloved black cat alone. Well, until one day where he was sent over the edge and decided to stab the poor c This depicts a man who has completely lost himself to his illness. I knew myself no longer.

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My original soul seemed, at once, to take its flight from my body; and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled every fibre of my frame. His illness is his alcoholism or so he says. So, he causes it himself; he knows the rage that drink brings him yet he persists in its consumption.

It seems like a convenient excuse for a deranged man to me. This, to me, is just stupidity. I suppose you could argue that the alcohol ruined him and destroyed his mind, but, again, that seems like an excuse. He claims to have loved the cat, and his actions suggest that he did so beyond his wife. Yet, he immediately tries to replace the cat after he hangs it.

Surely, such an animal would be irreplaceable to him regardless of whether or not he killed it? Surely, no other cat would be the same? Unless the alcohol destroyed his love and turned him to bitterness.

  • Short Stories: The Black Cat by Edgar Allan Poe.
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  • It's all rather ironic: With these I spent most of my time, and never was so happy as when feeding and caressing them. This peculiarity of character grew with my growth, I derived from it one of my principal sources of pleasure. The narrator is incredibly repulsive and disgustingly grotesque. Humorously, he even tries to blame the cat when the problem clearly resides within his own head.

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    His mind has been tainted whether by alcoholism, madness or some other dark force I cannot fully say. He has somehow convinced himself that the cat harbours the soul of a witch. This has been emphasised, to his mind, by its lack of an eye. He thinks it sees straight through him and sees his dark soul; thus, it too must be killed.

    Animal cruelty is a terrible thing, and I must admit that some of the description made me somewhat angry. The narrator is an evilly insane man, which Poe captured perfectly. But, overall, it is a marvel of writing. I'm glad the cat got the last laugh. View all 5 comments. May 28, Stephen rated it it was ok Shelves: Of course, as a member of the GLASS Association Get Lousy Drunk and Sing Showtunes , I will say that I found the negative portrayal of excess alcohol consumption to be both misleading and offensive and may have allowed that anger to color my opinion.

    The writing was fine, though I think Poe Boy has certainly shown far more literary prowess than he displayed here. Still, I would easily have forgiven less than brilliant prose if the story had been good. Much of this had to do with the story dynamic which just felt forced and far-fetched.

    The story begins with Mr. Doolittle begins sampling the local fermented beverages and quickly becomes a raging alcoholic madman who not only HATES animals, but enjoys committing surgical atrocities on them…. The journey from Mike Brady to Hannibal Lector was just too much of a stretch and the story's arms weren't long enough to reach. Even the trademark dread that Poe is usually so good at imbuing in his stories was almost totally absent. Thus, for me, a disappointment given how much I have loved many of his stories. View all 15 comments. I loved this story when I was eight years old.

    I feel like this story could apply to many situations, those times when we unintentionally hurt a friend or family member out of spite, times when we decide that misery loves company and shove our pain onto the shoulders of another person - or in this case an animal - and the cat comes to represent a darker force as it gives its abusive owner his comeuppance.

    View all 10 comments. Y cuando quiere matar al segundo, termina asesinando a su mujer. Y luego la supulta en la pared. Cuando la gente va a ver la casa, no se imaginan el horror con el que se encontraron I like Edger Allan Poe's stories very much. They are so deep and give very horrifying feelings to me. I liked this story too. While reading, I was feeling that I had experienced something like this before. But I couldn't know from where.

    The Black Cat (short story) - Wikipedia

    It turned out, The Tell-tale Heart was similar to this one. I highly recommend this story to everyone. Feb 06, Mansuriah Hassan rated it it was amazing Shelves: So after reading this short story, I was immediately intrigued. Edgar Allan Poe is literally the master of horror! Poe gives a disturbing creepy glimpse into the mind of the narrator. The narrator begins with his kind and human younger self. I took a small knife out of my coat and opened it. Then I took the poor animal by the neck and with one quick movement I cut out one of its fear-filled eyes!

    Slowly the cat got well. The hole where its eye had been was not a pretty thing to look at, it is true; but the cat no longer appeared to suffer any pain. As might be expected, however, it ran from me in fear whenever I came near. Why should it not run? Yet this did not fail to anger me. I felt growing inside myself a new feeling. Who has not, a hundred times, found himself doing wrong, some evil thing for no other reason than because he knows he should not? Are not we humans at all times pushed, ever driven in some unknown way to break the law just because we understand it to be the law?

    I hung it there until it was dead. I hung it there with tears in my eyes, I hung it because I knew it had loved me, because I felt it had given me no reason to hurt it, because I knew that my doing so was a wrong so great, a sin so deadly that it would place my soul forever outside the reach of the love of God! That same night, as I lay sleeping, I heard through my open window the cries of our neighbors. I jumped from my bed and found that the entire house was filled with fire.

    It was only with great difficulty that my wife and I escaped. And when we were out of the house, all we could do was stand and watch it burn to the ground. I thought of the cat as I watched it burn, the cat whose dead body I had left hanging in the cellar. It seemed almost that the cat had in some mysterious way caused the house to burn so that it could make me pay for my evil act, so that it could take revenge upon me. Months went by, and I could not drive the thought of the cat out of my mind.

    One night I sat in the inn, drinking as usual. In the corner I saw a dark object that I had not seen before. I went over to see what it could be. It was a cat, a cat almost exactly like Pluto. I touched it with my hand and petted it, passing my hand softly along its back. The cat rose and pushed its back against my hand. Suddenly, I realized that I wanted the cat. I offered to buy it from the innkeeper , but he claimed he had never seen the animal before.

    As I left the inn, it followed me, and I allowed it to do so. It soon became a pet of both my wife and myself. The morning after I brought it home, however, I discovered that this cat, like Pluto, had only one eye. How was it possible that I had not noticed this the night before? This fact only made my wife love the cat more. And then came, as if to my final and irrevocable overthrow, the spirit of perverseness. That very night, his house mysteriously catches fire, forcing the narrator, his wife and their servant to flee the premises.

    The next day, the narrator returns to the ruins of his home to find, imprinted on the single wall that survived the fire, the apparition of a gigantic cat, with a rope around the animal's neck. At first, this image deeply disturbs the narrator, but gradually he determines a logical explanation for it, that someone outside had cut the cat from the tree and thrown the dead creature into the bedroom to wake him during the fire.

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    The narrator begins to miss Pluto and hate himself for his actions, feeling guilty. Some time later, he finds a similar cat in a tavern. It is the same size and color as the original and is even missing an eye. The only difference is a large white patch on the animal's chest. The narrator takes it home, but soon begins to fear and loathe the creature, due to the fact that it amplifies his feeling of guilt. After a time, the white patch of fur begins to take shape and, much to the narrator's horror, forms the shape of the gallows.

    This terrifies and angers him more, and he avoids the cat whenever possible. Then, one day when the narrator and his wife are visiting the cellar in their new home, the cat gets under its master's feet and nearly trips him down the stairs. To conceal her body he removes bricks from a protrusion in the wall, places her body there, and repairs the hole. A few days later, when the police show up at the house to investigate the wife's disappearance, they find nothing and the narrator goes free. The cat, which he intended to kill as well, has also gone missing.

    This grants him the freedom to sleep, even with the burden of murder. On the last day of the investigation, the narrator accompanies the police into the cellar. They still find nothing significant. Then, completely confident in his own safety, the narrator comments on the sturdiness of the building and raps upon the wall he had built around his wife's body.

    A loud, inhuman wailing sound fills the room. The alarmed police tear down the wall and find the wife's corpse, and on its rotting head, to the utter horror of the narrator, is the screeching black cat. The terrified narrator is immediately shattered completely by this reminder of his crime, which he had believed to be safe from discovery, and the appearance of the cat.

    The Black Cat by Edgar Allan Poe - Audio Book

    As he words it: