One night, returning home, I came upon the sound of crying rising from the nearby alley. Inspecting the noise closer, I found a cat. A beautiful animal, entirely black. She hung by her neck from twisted wire on a fence. I could only surmise that in trying to crawl through an opening in the tattered fence, she found herself stuck and only worsened it in her struggle to get free.

Taking pity on the beast, I gently held her up and loosened her from the confinement.

Upon untangling the creature from her wire gallows, I found that she had been deprived of one of her eyes. Not the strangest deformation I’ve come across. However, rather than a result of the pestilence, this appeared to be the result of a past accident. The socket had healed to a point that the cat was unbothered by her injury. She immediately arose, purred loudly, rubbed against my hand, and appeared delighted with her rescue.

I continued my caresses, and, when I prepared to go home, the animal evinced a disposition to accompany me. I permitted it to do so; occasionally stooping and patting it as I proceeded. When it reached the house it domesticated itself at once, and became immediately a great favorite with my family.

 Styx -- this is what I named the cat -- my favorite pet and playmate. I alone feed her, and she attends me wherever I go about the house. It is even with difficulty that I could prevent her from following me through the streets.