The Fourth Night: The Eight-Tailed Cat

"In ancient Egyptian mythology, cats played a significant role. Long ago, cats ruled over humans with cunning, cruelty, and great intelligence. They treated humans as slaves until dogs came along, chasing the cats away and turning them from rulers into pets. Thus, dogs became the Egyptians' most important companions, and they believed cats brought death," my friend narrated slowly while sipping his tea.

"Are cats only featured in Egyptian myths?" I looked around; the cute little cat had gone out on its mischief again.

"Of course not. Today, I'll tell you a story about an Eastern cat," my friend said with a smile.

"It is said that the Buddha once mentioned that any creature with seven apertures could cultivate into a celestial being. 'Seven apertures' in today's terms probably refer to beings in general, and naturally, cats are included. It is recorded that a cultivating cat can grow an additional tail every twenty years, and upon growing the ninth tail, it reaches a certain realm of enlightenment.

However, the ninth tail is not easy to grow. When a cat has eight tails, it receives a hint that it must fulfill a person's wish. For every wish it fulfills, the cat must sacrifice one of its tails to grant it. Thus, it nearly becomes an endless cycle. But the cat I speak of diligently completed this cycle. Although it has always had eight tails, it has lived for many years and fulfilled many people's wishes. It once complained to the Buddha about how it could ever ascend. The Buddha simply smiled and did not answer," my friend paused, then said mysteriously, "I only heard the above from my ancestors. Because the eight-tailed cat does not just help anyone, it only aids the descendants of its first human master. In my hometown, tales of the eight-tailed cat are common, and everyone hopes to encounter it because if it chooses to assist you, any wish, absolutely any wish, can be fulfilled."

I looked at him, recalling that he had visited his hometown before inheriting his fortune, and couldn't help but ask, "Did you see it? Is that why you inherited such a fortune?"

"Fool, my parents died long ago, and the inheritance was just something I received upon graduating from college as stipulated by my parents," he laughed heartily, making me feel a bit embarrassed.

"However, during that visit, I indeed learned some tales about the eight-tailed cat."

"My hometown is a place rich in resources, and of course, full of mice. To solve the rodent problem, every household has kept cats since ancient times. Strangely, no one in our area keeps dogs, nor do we consume dog meat. The presence of cats has brought significant benefits to the locals. Without the disturbance of rats, the harvests are plentiful and diseases are not spread. Thus, everyone cherishes cats greatly, and naturally, there are many legends about them.

The first I knew was told by my great-uncle, who passed away last year. At the time he shared this story with me, he was still robust, though nearly eighty, with a youthful appearance but deep-set eyes that were quite frightening due to severe cataracts. He was reluctant to undergo surgery and just lived with it.

For ease of narration, what follows is in his voice.

"That year, your grandfather and I were just about ten years old. There was a mountain behind our village where we often played, or, if we were lucky, caught some small animals. You know, children in the countryside learn to fend for themselves very early. Of course, we knew there were wolves on the mountain, but we never ventured far, just around the mid-slope, and your grandfather was very good at recognizing the wolves' territories. He knew where it was safe to go and where it wasn't.

We had heard legends about an eight-tailed cat in the village, said to have been owned by a young boy hundreds of years ago, a cat so large it could almost match a regular dog in size, and completely white with thick, long tails. People at the time revered this cat, thinking it might be a demon among cats.

After the boy died, the cat disappeared, and then people successively claimed to have seen the cat, and the boy's descendants all prospered and became a prominent family in the village. Everyone thought this was a blessing from the cat demon. But the descendants never spoke of it. It's taboo to share your story with the eight-tailed cat with others, as it's believed to shorten your life. But I've lived long enough, so it doesn't matter if I tell you (he laughed heartily at this).

That day started out fine, but the weather in June can change within three minutes, and even a seasoned weather watcher like me can miss the signs. I didn't invite your grandfather because he was about to go study in the provincial town. He couldn't be wild like me anymore. So, I went alone, hoping to pick some mushrooms or catch some game on the mountain. But before I reached the mid-slope, a severe rain started, the likes of which I hadn't seen in decades. I had to take shelter under a dense canopy of leaves. The sky was oppressively dark, and I almost forgot it was morning. Amid the torrential rain and lightning, I faintly heard a wolf's howl. Logically, wolves shouldn't come out to hunt in such weather, but a second howl confirmed my suspicions.

Before I could flee, I saw four wolves surrounding me. It wasn't my first time seeing wolves; I had hunted them with my father before. But back then, I was just following the adults for fun. This time, I might really end up as wolf fodder. I started to tremble, unclear if it was from fear or the cold rain.

The wolves, fully grown, had their wet fur clumped tightly to their bodies, clearly outlining their figures. I could even count their ribs, indicating they hadn't eaten in a long time. So, I stood there, facing them off. I knew that wolves wouldn't attack immediately; they would carefully, patiently observe and wait for the best opportunity to ensure a successful strike. For all I knew, my throat could be torn open in the next second.

Then, I saw the wolves suddenly start to back away, growling lowly with a mixture of threat and fear. I looked around and saw it.

It was longer than I could have imagined, almost the size of a young lion, but entirely white. The rain seemed not to touch its beautiful fur at all. Its eyes were like two black agates, ominously shining. And most strikingly, it had eight tails, standing proudly like the banners of an emperor.

I suddenly remembered that people in the village said the eight-tailed cat often appears during unusual rainstorms and seeks those who need their wishes fulfilled.

The wolves quickly fled. The eight-tailed cat casually walked up to me. In its presence, I almost forgot I was a human, a being that should be above many other creatures. I felt very small. But I also desired to possess it, for it was so beautiful (at this point, my great-uncle's eyes softened, and he seemed lost in the memory).

It flicked its tails and then shook its head, stretching lazily before looking at me.

I knew it was waiting for me to make a wish. It turned out our family was the descendant of that boy, which excited and thrilled me. But its sudden appearance left me unprepared, and I really hadn't thought about what wish to ask it to fulfill. I cautiously asked, "May I touch you?"

It expressionlessly squinted its eyes, and just then, the rain stopped. The sun came out quickly, and its white fur turned almost translucent in the sunlight. Perhaps it had agreed, so I touched its neck with trembling hands.

Throughout life, one touches many things—silk, satin, glossy porcelain, or the skin of a young woman. But the fur of the eight-tailed cat felt different from any other fur I had touched. It wasn't disorderly like regular cat fur, nor was it as soft as the fox fur others had given us. I didn't know exactly what it felt like, but it was very comfortable. My hand seemed stuck there. I even thought about lying on its fur and falling asleep.

But it quickly moved away, perhaps disliking being too close to humans. I knew it was still waiting for my wish, its eight tails restlessly swaying. I really didn't know what wish to fulfill, so I just told it to come home with me for now, and I would tell it later.

The eight-tailed cat looked at me, then suddenly shimmered all over, nearly blinding me. Then I saw a cat on the ground—a regular white cat with just one tail.

I knew it was the eight-tailed cat. I was so happy that I picked it up and excitedly headed home.

In the following days, I played with the eight-tailed cat every day. The adults in the village didn't interfere with a child playing with a cat. Since I didn't want to study like your father and our family was affluent, I was left to my own devices. But initially, the eight-tailed cat was reluctant to play. Whenever I threw a ball of yarn or a paper ball at it like I did with other cats, it just indifferently watched me, like an old man watching a childish kid. I finally realized that teasing it in such a way was actually disrespectful to it.

It would call out to me every day, or just sit at the door shaking its tails. I knew it didn't want to stay here. It wanted to quickly fulfill my wish, lose a tail, and then repeat its endless cultivation. Looking at its back, I felt it was quite pitiable.

One day, I sat in front of it and asked, "Can any wish be fulfilled?"

It didn't respond, just lazily looked at me.

"Then, my wish is for you to have nine tails," I said slowly.

The eight-tailed cat froze. Its eyes, like black agates, filled with confusion, and then a look that I later recognized as gratitude. Perhaps it finally understood the Buddha's meaning—that only by meeting someone willing to let it complete itself could it have nine tails. People before had selfishly considered their own needs, thinking the eight-tailed cat was obligated to fulfill any wish for them without considering its feelings, as each tail required decades of cultivation.

The eight-tailed cat slowly got up, lay down in front of me, and licked my hand, which felt warm. I saw its eyes were wet, perhaps with tears.

It couldn't be called the eight-tailed cat any longer, as I saw it grow a ninth tail, so magnificent and beautiful, its body shimmering with white light. Later, the local bully Tie Dan swore he saw a bright white light flashing from my house that day.

I watched it leave, feeling somewhat sad. I knew I would never see it again in my lifetime.

But it seems that I've been under its protection ever since. I've lived a happy and peaceful life without much accomplishment. My children are very filial, and my health is excellent. Perhaps all these blessings are thanks to it, and also, I dreamed of it last night; it said it was coming to fetch me."

This was my great-uncle's narrative. At the time, I was skeptical, knowing that there is a condition in medicine called confabulation, often found in the elderly. They are physically healthy, but their memories are jumbled, often linking unrelated events into a coherent, self-made memory. I didn't know if my great-uncle had this condition.

But soon, before I left my hometown, he passed away very peacefully, just sleeping in his wicker chair during the day. The family even called it a 'happy funeral.'

At the funeral, I was the eldest of my generation, so I kept the vigil on the first night. What happened that night confirmed my great-uncle's story.

After 2 AM, when most people had left and the few who were keeping vigil had fallen deeply asleep, I was surprisingly alert. Thinking of how just a few days ago, I had been chatting and laughing with my relative, who had suddenly passed into the realm of yin and yang, made me somewhat sad. But in the quiet of the night, I heard a cat's meow. It wasn't eerie like in the movies but was filled with a gentle call.

And I saw it, the eight-tailed cat—no, it should be called the nine-tailed cat now. Just as my great-uncle had described, anyone seeing it for the first time would be amazed by its beauty. Its fur was white like snow, yet it had eyes black as jet. And its nine floating white tails made it even more majestic.

It walked straight towards me, completely ignoring my astonishment. I wanted to wake the others, but my mouth couldn't form the words.

I just watched as it walked up to my great-uncle's coffin, licked his hand just as it had when he left, and then disappeared like smoke.

It took a long time before I could speak again. But I didn't tell the others; I knew it would only invite ridicule, and talking about such things during the solemn period of a funeral is taboo where I come from. After my great-uncle's funeral, I returned home, and I never saw the eight-tailed cat again. It seems its legend had also ended."

"Such a magical cat," I couldn't help but exclaim.

"Indeed, but do you believe it?" my friend asked.

"Of course, if someone else had told me, I might not believe it, but I trust everything you say, no matter how fantastical," I said firmly.

"That's good, to have a confidant in life is to die with no regrets. Having you believe is enough," my friend said, patting my shoulder and suggesting I rest early. I knew tonight's story had ended. After my friend left, the room returned to its solitary quiet. At that moment, my friend's cat came back from outside. I looked at the cute kitty and wondered if it could be that very eight-tailed cat. If anyone is fortunate enough to encounter the eight-tailed cat, remember to make a wish for it to have nine tails, because those lingering in this world are very lonely and solitary.