This door of the galloping cat was discovered in a croft house in the south of England, in the village of Tiverton. It opens from the bottom of the cellar stair into the cellar itself, and had been boarded over, apparently for several centuries. The cottage, fallen past reclaim, had served as a feed storage shed. The myth of the galloping cat, which was believed locally, would allow no one to live in the house. Several families tried to move in but something, likely the stories told by superstitious villagers, seems to have frightened them off. In 1947 Dr. Alfred Stetsingwell obtained permission from heirs to unboard the cellar and examine the door. It far surpassed his expectations. Radiocarbon tests date the timbers at older than the six centuries, probably from the first century B.C. The carving is bold and primitive, and made with simple tools. All attempts to remove the door without damage for exhibit in the British Museum have failed. The frame wood splits, the hinges crack, and twice the door itself has cracked. And these efforts give rise to another chapter in the myth. Two of the workmen, remaining alone past quitting hours, swore that a figure came down the cellar steps and told them to board up the door again. The workers described the man as having the face and paws of a cat. They boarded up the door, but Dr. Stetsingwell later unboarded it. He was never able to remove it, short of cutting apart the wood, which he was not willing to do. The door remains in the cellar in Tiverton, where this photograph was made. The myths of the countryside center around it, and around the strange disappearance and reappearance of Tiverton’s townsfolk. Tiverton is also known in the area for its large, handsome cats, which are said to be uncannily clever at mousing. In this farming region, cats are valued for that purpose.
Olive said, “I’ve had a time searching out such examples. I’ve used every resource in the city, and of course inter-library loan.”
Melissa was shaken. She watched the old woman warily. “What the book says about the man being half-cat—that’s just made up, of course.”
Olive smiled. “Of course that part is folktale. Oh, there are wonderful tales. They’ve been all but lost.” Her faded brown eyes shone. “How lovely if they were true.”
She opened a leather case and began shuffling through papers. “I’ve found mention of several such doors carved with cats.” She looked up at Melissa. “Are you sure you’re interested in all this?”
“Oh, very interested.”
“Well, you’ve seen the door in the garden, of course.” She studied Melissa rather too intently. “There are curious stories surrounding each door—fears, superstitions. That’s the aspect that interests me most. Are you a cat person?”
Melissa sat very still, fear swamping her. She daren’t move, daren’t speak.
“Do you like cats, my dear? Are you a person who likes cats?”
She let the fear drain away; she felt weak; her heart was pounding too fast. “Oh, yes, I like cats. But cats don’t like me much. Tell me about the other doors.”
