Descriptive Essay On A Black Cat

	In Edgar Allan Poe’s "The Black Cat," symbolism is used to show the narrator’s capacity for violence, madness, and guilt. "The Black Cat," written by Edgar Allan Poe serves as a reminder for all of us. The Capacity for violence and horror lies within each of

Edgar Allen Poe’s short story The Black Cat immerses the reader into the mind of a murdering alcoholic. Poe himself suffered from alcoholism and often showed erratic behavior with violent outburst. Poe is famous for his American Gothic horror tales such as the Tell-Tale Heart and the Fall of the House of Usher. “The Black Cat is Poe’s second psychological study of domestic violence and guilt. He added a new element to aid in evoking the dark side of the narrator, and that is the supernatural world.” (Womack). Poe uses many of the American Gothic characteristics such as emotional intensity, superstition, extremes in violence, the focus on a certain object and foreshadowing lead the reader through a series of events that are horrifying

The Black Cat by Edgar Allen Poe is a horror story about a man who loses everything he once had due to his alcohol use/abuse. The story begins when the narrator confesses his love for animals. The narrator marries a woman and introduces her to a black cat, named Pluto. The narrator begins to suffer from violent and uncontrollable mood swings, caused from influence of alcohol. After coming home drunk one night the narrator lashes out at Pluto, he quickly tries to grab the cat, only to be bitten.

A lone candle burns into the senseless night. Its wax trickling down its side. I stare at the clock and it is barely half past nine, yet time seems to stand still. I stare at the window and investigate the nasty mesmerizing blizzard falling outside my window. I could not grasp anything other than the snow. All I can do is moan as each passing second this bloody snow lingers and destroys my vision of a perfect Christmas, in which Santa would come and visit me in my sleep. At the time I was only four but I treasured Christmas and the snow surrounding it. Little did I know the damage that it would entail into my life.

Three days earlier on a wintery morning. I walked out of my warm apartment, as the cold breeze instantly smacked me in the face, even with my woolly, Christmas themed sweater and thick, quilted coat I was still cold. The sky was washed with grey clouds, as the ground was covered in crisp, white snow. The wind whooshed and whistled past my ears giving me the shivers; I quickly ran through the deep,

A struggling writer during the 1840’s is undoubtedly one of the strongest and well-known writers today. Commonly referred to as “The father of the detective story”, Poe’s graphic-gothic work certainly caught the attention of the public, who collectively believe his strange work unintentionally reveals his own troubled mind. His famous piece of work, The Black Cat, reveals the psychology of guilt and delivers varied emotions including superstition, hatred, love, sudden mental and personality transformation, which are all conveyed through Pluto. Literary devices in The Black Cat, along with Poe’s outstanding knowledge of the complex human mind and mental disorders prior to its discovering, reveal the nameless narrator’s unstable mental condition.

Similarly, in “The Black Cat,” the nameless protagonist defends the reliability of his narrative. He, too, tells his story from a prison cell after committing murder. His victim, however, was his wife. The narrator tells us that he and his wife were very happy, and together they loved and owned a variety of pets. The narrator cannot fully explain his transition to cruelty, however. On the one hand, he blames his alcoholism as a rational explanation for his mood swings. On the other hand, he faults an innate spirit of perverseness that he says forced his hand. Both, he says, led him to abuse his favorite pet, “a remarkably large and beautiful [cat], entirely black, and sagacious to an astonishing degree.” He cut the cat’s eye from its socket

There was a fresh chill in the air when she stepped out onto the sidewalk. Snow was sprinkling down coating the pavement in front of the building. She had to tug her hood just a little tighter as she carefully made her way up the little entrance way.

Fourteen days later, eighteen inches of winter break’s snow hugged the streets that lied underneath. However, I would still leisurely drive through it like it was any other

Oma quietly drove the car down the slushy street. Muddy boulders of hard-packed snow lined the streets and mostly unoccupied parking lots. Thick, fluffy snowflakes whipped past under a cloudy sky the color of chilled steel. Frost crept up the pine trees along the roads, shining slightly in the dim light. The freezing waters of Lake Huron were dotted with huge chunks of ice that bobbed in the waves.

Edgar Allen Poe was one of the most influential and important writers of the nineteenth century. He was the first writer to try to make a living only writing. One of Poe’s most popular short stories, “The Black Cat”, is considered horror fiction or gothic fiction which Poe is known for in his books and short stories because it was a popular genre during his days. In Poe’s short story, “The Black Cat”, Poe uses a horror fiction genre, a mentally deranged and evil narrator/character, and symbolism of death to make a thrilling story with tons of suspense, drama, and gruesome detail.

When reading a short story many people take the details given to be the unconditional truth. This is probably why so many of these people are confused or repulsed by a story like “The Black Cat.” Throughout the story, the narrator makes numerous contradictions. These contradictions, combined with his actions make me doubt the legitimacy and truth of what he says.

The Black Cat, written by Edgar Allen Poe, is a short story about a man, also the narrator, who starts out by living a “happy” life with his wife and favorite black cat, Plato. Although, he begins to be consumed by his drinking and becomes irritable. The black cat used to be by his side but now avoids him. This irritability leads him into becoming overly aggressive, which results in him hurting and murdering the cat. Then, a second cat appears who looks the same as Pluto but with a white spot on his chest. Eventually, the man starts to feel anger towards the cat and attempts to murder him with an axe, but his wife stops him. Unfortunately, his wife was hit in the head. The man then decides to bury his dead wife in his basement wall. He thinks he has got away with murder, but in the end, one learns that he had accidentally buried the cat alive with his wife. The cat reveals his hiding spot when he is caught by the police. Although it seems that the main character has committed these actions solely from alcoholism, it is obvious that there are signs he is also suffering from a mental illness.

It was a cold day, so cold that your arms start to sting as if a needle is impaling the surface of your skin. The wind applies a force which feels as if your face is oozing with thick crimson red blood. The gray puffy clouds covered the sky and dropped small snowflakes onto the road’s surface. A man stood there, freezing, clearing the coat of thick white snow from the concrete road. His nose runs with a river of snot that floods out when the cold wind strikes. His sense of smell is heavily clogged by the slimy snot, but he can still smell the scent of the steamy hot chocolate which sits on the top of his snow covered car. His feet start to numb because of the cold flood which soaks through his boots to his white, silky socks. His feet feel as if he stepped into the freezing cold ocean. As if he fell through ice and he was stuck standing there. The vast pile of the ice white snow feels almost like a quicksand around his black rubber boot. Foggy figures of people shovel the big piles of snow off the sidewalks. They scrape and pick at the glossy white ice which sticks to the sidewalk like a little boy clinging to his mother's side. His feet still sting as if he was stepping on pins and needles. His hands are damp with sweat from grasping the curved metal shaft attached to a socket which holds the blade. The blade cuts holes into the thick powdered snow which is removed from the endless pile. The jet black shovel is filled with slushy snow and crystal shards of ice. The end of

It was a frigid day in December. I wore so many clothes that I looked like a penguin. Every breath I took makes a small cloud and scattered. The gloves I worn seemed to be mildness like paws. The buildings behind me were covered by the thick snow. The wall became more brick-red because of the spotless white snow. Some snowflakes drift down on my hair gently. The snow was heavy, but not much wind. My friends bounced from worm house and laughed to me. “We should build a snowman. The snow is heavy enough.” One of my friends advised. We all cheered and started to pile the snow together.