Long before Halloween marketing turned them into spooky décor, black cats were divine royalty. In ancient Egypt, they were not omens but oracles. These miniature panthers belonged to Bastet, the goddess of pleasure, fertility, good health, and protection. Bastet began as a lioness, the sun’s avenger, daughter of Ra, sister of Sekhmet, wife of Ptah, and mother of Mihos, a family tree that reads like a Biblical soap opera with better accessories. Over time, as her temper softened, she shed her lion form and took the shape of a domestic cat. She came to represent warmth, sensuality, and that silent, ungovernable power that defines womanhood when it is left to rule itself. Temples to Bastet once filled the city of Bubastis. Each year, pilgrims arrived by the tens of thousands. The air smelled of wine, incense, and fevered devotion. Music drifted through the streets while golden statues gleamed in the ambient torchlight. Mummified cats, wrapped in linen and sealed in gilt coffins, were offe...

  There is no such thing as a Black Panther. That’s what the biologists will tell you. And technically, they’re right. "Black panther" is not a distinct species. It’s a title, like a crown passed down through bloodlines and shadows. The name is used to describe melanistic leopards in Asia and Africa and melanistic jaguars in the Americas. The sleek black coat comes from a recessive gene mutation that causes an excess of dark pigment, cloaking the animal in what looks like pure midnight. But look closely, and you’ll see the ghost of rosettes hiding beneath the darkness—a secret print on a secretive animal. They are not the norm. They are not common. And that’s precisely the point. Black panthers are nature’s rare rebellion. The statistical anomaly that survived. Like the underdog who didn’t just make it out of the gutter, but did so in silk and silence. Most people have never seen one. Not in the wild. Not even in zoos. Melanism is rare: about 11% of leopards and jaguars carry...

For Halloween, I thought a good article would be about black cats and their associations in history, but in a more positive way. I don't believe they bring bad luck. Pascal and Marat were two of my rescues that I kept; they were all black house panthers and loverboys. Marat was my baby that I bottle-fed to keep him alive, but FIP robbed me of him too soon. I cried all the way to the vet, at the vet, and on the cab ride home, brokenhearted, clutching his empty cat carrier. The cab driver shared photos of his three and comforted me with compassion and the understanding only an animal lover could provide.  Pascal (pronounced Pask-all), "the rask-all," would drool on me if I cuddled him, and he was in my life for 16 years. He was tiny but had a mighty heart full of pure love. He was my road "dog" who was game for every change in my life, loved car rides, hikes, and sitting on my shoulders like a stole. He went right up to my husband when he met him, fell at his feet...