A tailor, named Macilduinn, was left in a house alone on Hallowe’en night, while the rest of the household went to a neighbour’s house to hold the festivities of the evening. As he sat on a bed, working at his trade, a great many cats came in, and attacking a bag of flesh at the end of the bed soon tore it up and devoured it. They then gathered round the tailor. One said, “The back of my paw to Macilduinn!” Another said, “The front of my paw to Macilduinn!”[12] These threats were repeated by all the rest, while they held out their horrid claws, some derisively, some menacingly, to the poor tailor. Frightened from his wits, he blew out the light, sprung to the door, and took to his heels. The cats gave chase, and by the time he reached a neighbours house his back was scratched into shreds and thongs (na iallun) by the claws of the infernal cats.
Cameron of Doïni, or Glenevis, was out hunting, and killed a wild-cat. The animal, when expiring, asked him to tell, when he went home, that ‘the King of the Cats’ (Righ nan Cat) was dead, or according to others ‘the Key of Battle’ (an Iuchair Chath), or ‘the streaked Brindled one’ (a Bhruchail Bhreac). As he told his story, the little black kitten in the ash-hole (an toll na luath) bristled up and swelled, till it was as large as a dog. Cameron said, “You are swelling, cat.” The cat answered, “My feathers and my swellings are growing bigger with the heat,”[13] and, springing at the chieftain’s throat, killed him. The scions of this family (Teaghlach Dhomhainnidh no Ghlinn-Ibheis) till quite recent times, would not tolerate a cat in the house, from the memory of this tradition.
The same story is told in the following manner, without any locality being assigned for the incident. A hunter killed a wild-cat, and when he came home told his adventure. He said,
“To-night has well prospered with us,
The big urchal-erchal has been slain.”
A kitten that was listening rose and said, “Has Bald Entrails of the Cats been killed? If it were not the many nights I have got meat and milk in your family, I would have your long brindled weasand in my claws. Tell Streaked Foul-Face, that Bladrum is dead,”[14] and saying this the kitten went away, and was never seen afterwards.
Near Vaul in Tiree, a man riding home at night, with his son, a young boy, seated behind him, was met by a number of cats. The boy had his hands clasped round his father, and the man, pressing them to his sides, to make surer of the boy’s hold, urged his horse to its speed. The cats sprang, and, fastening on the boy, literally devoured him. When the man reached home, with his horse at full gallop, he had only the boy’s arms left.
A Wexford legend of the same kind (the two stories might have been originally identical), said to be at least as old as 1584, will be found in the Dublin University Magazine for September, 1869.
A woman detected a strange cat drinking the milk in her kirn, caught it by the back of the neck, and rapped its nose against the floor. It went about mewing in a melancholy manner, till the woman took pity on it, and called it, saying, “Puss, puss, till you get a drop” (Puis, puis, gus am faigheadh tu diar). The cat answered, “It is not a drop I want, but the way my mouth is, Mary” (Cha-ne diar tha mi’g iarraidh ach mar tha mo bhial a Mhàiri). It then went away, but came back through the night with two other cats. One said they would take the back of their paws to the woman, but the second said the front of their paws. This resolution was carried by the casting vote of the injured cat, and the woman was torn in shreds.
A man, going in the evening to see a girl he was courting, was met at a lonely part of the road (near the end of Balefetrish Hill in Tiree) by seven cats, and was so terrified that he turned back and thereby lost his sweetheart. She married an old man from the village of Hianish, where a noted witch dwelt. The old man got the blame of bribing the witch to send the cats.