I recently visited one of my Bucket List museums (yes, that is the kind of nerd that I am). I wanted to share a few of my pictures from the Chicago Field Museum featuring feline artifacts in their collections.
For more information about cat mummies in ancient Egypt, see my article on the goddess Bastet. The lions of Tsavo are on my shortlist for future articles. If you don’t know, it is a gruesome and fascinating tale.
Late Period bronze figurine of Bastet in the Louvre Museum – photo by Rama on Wikimedia Commons
Cats and humans have a long and complicated relationship that dates back thousands of years. Their earliest interactions are a bit murky, but many historians believe that cats were first domesticated in ancient Egypt, where they became an important part of the culture. The relationship between ancient Egyptians and their cats is exemplified by the cat-headed goddess Bastet and her cult of feline worship.
The Rise of Bastet
Bastet, also known as Bast or Basht, was the daughter of the sun god Ra and the goddess of fertility, childbirth, protection (especially of women and children), and the home [1-5]. In early depictions, Bastet has the head of a lioness, but as her popularity rose during the New Kingdom, she came to be associated with domestic cats instead [2, 3]. These depictions of the goddess typically show her with a sistrum, a percussion instrument, in her right hand [1, 2, 4, 5]. The goddess is also represented as a seated cat [1-5].
Feline Domestication
Egyptians first encountered cats in the form of Felis chaus, the jungle cat, and Felis lybica, the African wildcat [1]. Both species look a bit like the modern housecat, but it was F. lybica that became the ancestor of the domestic cat, Felis catus [1]. F. lybica is smaller, less aggressive, and lived closer to that civilization than F. chaus [1]. The African wildcat’s striped yellowish or orangish fur was passed down to domestic cats [1].
Bronze Egyptian cat statue (663-525 B.C.E.) in the Worchester Art Museum – photo by Daderot on Wikimedia Commons
Cats were not so much domesticated by humans; they domesticated themselves. There were two major threats in the daily lives of ancient Egyptians: venomous snakes and rodents eating their crops [1]. Large concentrations of people attract lots of rodents eager to take advantage of their food stores and garbage. Snakes are attracted by rodents as well as the nice, warm human dwellings. But the wildcats came into town to hunt the rodents and the snakes, and ancient Egyptians were pleased with the results [1]. Villagers went out of their way to encourage the pest patrol to stay, and the wildcats were happy to stay where prey was plentiful and predators were few [1]. A partnership of sorts developed, and as the wildcats became used to humans, they became less wild [1]. Eventually, they became pets, and then, little goddesses in the flesh [1].
Worship of Bastet
Bastet’s center of worship and grandest temple was at Bubastis [1-4]. A major reason for Bastet’s meteoric rise in popularity was that Bubastis became the capital in the first millennium [1]. The Greek historian Herodotus described the temple as a square edifice of stone built on an island with channels to either side and a grove of trees planted in its central courtyard [4]. The temple provided a variety of social services for Bubastis, such as medical care, food, and counseling [4]. Worshippers traveled from all over the country came to the temple at Bubastis which was, unsurprisingly, filled with thousands of pampered cats [1]. The devoted gave offerings to the goddess such as figurines in the shape of cats or Bastet herself, jars of perfume, and mummified cats [1, 2, 4].
Oh yes, mummified cats. Pet cats could be brought to the temple for mummification and burial, presumably so these beloved family members could join their human companions in the afterlife [1]. However, cats were also mummified specifically to offer to Bastet [1, 4]. The ancient Egyptians did this with other animals as well, including ibises and dogs. Archeologists discovered one cat cemetery in Bubastis, dating to about 900 B.C.E., which contained close to 300,000 mummies [1]!
Egyptologists believe that the priests of Bastet maintained catteries at her temples to mass-produce cat mummies [1]. They would sell the mummies to pilgrims looking to make an offering at the temple [1]. Analysis of these mummies often reveals head or neck trauma, indicating a violent death and untimely death [1]. Diodorus Siculus, another Greek historian, reported that anyone in ancient Egypt who was found to have killed a cat would immediately be put to death via mob justice [1]. If this is true, I can only assume that these mummy factories were not common knowledge, and archeology discovered a very, very long-buried scandal.
The Festival of Bastet at Bubastis
Late Ptolemaic Period Cat with Kittens (664-30 B.C.E.) – photo from Brooklyn Museum on Wikimedia Commons
Every year, a big festival was thrown in honor of Bastet at Bubastis [1, 3, 4]. Much of what we know about this event comes from Herodotus as well [1, 3, 4]. There could be 700,000 worshippers in attendance [1, 3, 4]. The festival resembled Carnivale or Mardi Gras in its wild revelry [4]. It began with attendees traveling to Bubastis by river, singing and dancing and playing music all the way [3, 4]. Upon reaching Bubastis, the festival would turn into a citywide party [1, 3, 4]. Unhindered celebration with music and wine was believed to please Bastet and perhaps represented her nature as a fertility deity [3, 4].
“But when they have reached Bubastis, they make a festival with great sacrifices, and more wine is drunk at this feast than in the whole year besides.”
Herodotus, Histories, Book 11.60
Works Cited
Adams, A. L. (2021). For the love of Bastet: A history of cats in ancient Egypt. Veterinary Heritage, 44(1), 27-33.
Last year, I wrote about bakeneko and nekomata, two yokai, or supernatural entities, from Japanese folklore. Since then, I have learned about even more Japanese cats creatures, and I am delighted to share them with you. This article is mostly derived from a book called Kaibyo: The Supernatural Cats of Japan by Zack Davisson. I highly recommend it if you would like to learn more.
What is a “kaibyo,” you may be wondering? It means “strange cats,” and the term that encompasses all feline yokai [1]. Kaibyo mostly consist of different bakeneko and nekomata, however one of the strange cats on our list today is neither [1, 4].
Kasha (火車)
The word kasha means “fire cart” [1-3]. You’re probably thinking that was a typo, but it was not. Kasha are a type of oni (demon) that originated with depictions on Kamakura Era hell scrolls of oni carrying sinners in flaming carts [1, 2]. The hell scrolls, jigoku-zoshi, were an art form that depicted the horrors of the Buddhist hell in order to scare the illiterate masses into following the way of the Buddha [1, 2]. These early kasha were not cat-like [1]. Edo Period artist Toriyama Sekien drew the first known feline kasha in 1776 [1].
Toriyama Sekien’s kasha – Wikimedia Commons
The cat-like kasha that became the dominant lore is a bakeneko, or “changing cat” [1, 3]. Some said a housecat becomes a kasha because it gained power through old age [1]. Others believed that cats left alone with a dead body transform into kasha [1]. Whenever someone died, cats would be driven from the house to keep this from happening [1].
Why were people so afraid their cat might become a kasha? Because kasha are fiery, corpse-stealing necromancers [1-3]. Kasha descend from trees and rooftops during funerals to steal the body away–sometimes to drag the sinner to hell, sometimes to eat, and sometimes to play with [1, 3]. Kasha are able to raise the dead, apparently not in a happy way, or to manipulate lifeless bodies like puppets [1, 3]. In their true form, kasha are at least as large as a person, walk on their hind legs, and have an aura of fire or lightning [3].
Bakeneko Yujo (化猫遊女)
As the name suggests, this kaibyo is a type of bakeneko. Like all bakeneko, bakeneko yujo are known for their shapeshifting abilities. “Yujo” refers to sex workers, so the name speaks for itself [1]. Bakeneko yujo were said to be beautiful sex workers who were actually shapeshifting cats in disguise, perhaps luring men to their chambers to meet a grisly end [1, 4].
The bakeneko yujo arose as an urban legend during the highly creative Edo Period [1]. The tales were spread and popularized by kiboshi (“yellow books”), very short, cheap, and lurid novels like the European penny dreadfuls [1]. In the typical tale, a customer arranges the services of a sex worker, only to wake up in the middle of the night to see her casting a feline shadow and realize what she is [1]. The reader doesn’t usually find out the man’s fate [1]. Some stories are more grostesque, such as one where the customer witnesses the bakeneko yujo in a feline form chewing a human arm [1].
Bakeneko Yujo by Torii Kiyonaga,1775 – Wikimedia Commons
Though the urban legend started out creepy and sometimes grisly, bakeneko yujo became an object of desire [1]. Men would specifically go in search of sex workers who might be kaibyo in disguise [1]. The sex workers quickly realized they could take advantage of this and would play into the legend with such little tricks as keeping pet cats and asking their customers for gifts of seafood [1]. Today, human felinity still evokes a sense of beauty and sex appeal in Japan [1, 4].
Neko Musume (猫娘)
A neko musume is a kaibyo all her own, neither bakeneko nor nekomata [1, 4]. Neko musume means “cat daughter” or, figuratively, “cat girl” [1, 4]. Neko musume are cat/human hybrids, possessing distinctly feline physical and behavioral traits [1, 4]. The legend originated with the misemono of the mid-1700s [1]. These carnivals included freak show-like displays of oddities, both objects and people [1]. Yokai were a popular subject [1].
One such misemono performer was known as the neko musume, and she was very popular [1]. No pictures of her exist, but she was described as looking exactly like a hybrid of human and cat, as she claimed [1]. Whether this was due to a medical condition or clever cosmetics, no one knows [1].
Neko musume began to appear in literature in 1800 [1]. The increasingly popular stories often involve the frustrated efforts of parents to handle a daughter who looks and acts kind of like a cat [1, 4]. The feline features vary, but a habit of hunting and eating small rodents is usually a prominent feature [1]. In one story, a mother at the end of her rope finally decides to take advantage of her odd daughter’s talents and makes the neko musume the village’s professional ratcatcher [1]. A whole genre of human/animal hybrid stories was spawned from the popularity of these strange tales [1, 4].
Cat girls, as well as other hybrids, remain popular in Japanese media today [1, 4]. There is famously a cat girl in the manga and anime Gegege no Kitaro named, creatively, Neko-Musume [4].
Works Cited
Davisson, Z. (2021). Kaibyo: The supernatural cats of Japan (2nd ed.). Mercuria Press: Portland, OR.
The American Midwest is dotted with large earthworks left behind by ancient peoples known as the Hopewell culture. Among their impressive projects were burial mounds where they entombed their dead. Inside one of these, archaeologists found something surprising: a bobcat, buried among humans and in a similar manner [1, 3, 4]. According to Perri et al, who published the findings in 2015, “To our knowledge, this is the only decorated wild cat burial in the archaeological record” [4]. Although there is debate about what the relationship might have been between the bobcat and the Hopewell who buried it, there can be no doubt that this was one special cat.
Who Were the Hopewell?
The Hopewell culture flourished between approximately 100 B.C. and 400 A.D., during what is known as the Middle Woodland Period [2]. The name comes from Mordecai Hopewell, the landowner on whose property the first mounds were excavated [2]. No on knows what these people called themselves, so the name of the first archaeological site was applied to the entire culture.
Hopewell peoples lived in small, scattered villages [2, 3]. They were hunter-gatherers and traders [2, 3]. They also practiced some agriculture, growing crops such as sunflower and squash [2]. Their trade networks spread far and wide, from the Rocky Mountains to the East Coast to the Gulf of Mexico [2]. The Hopewell often incorporated materials from such far-away places in their distinctive art [2]. Animal motifs are common in their artwork as well [2, 3].
It was the mounds, however, that first drew archaeologists to this fascinating culture. People from multiple villages would come together to construct ceremonial sites by shaping the earth into walls [2]. Geometric enclosures were common, but sometimes they were irregular [2]. The Hopewell also built conical or loaf-shaped funerary mounds inside earthwork enclosures at mortuary sites [2, 3].
A Case of Mistaken Identity
One of these mortuary sites, the Elizabeth site, sits overlooking the Illinois River in western Illinois, about 50 miles (80 km) north of St. Louis, Missouri [3, 4]. It contains 14 mounds [3]. In the 1980s, a highway project threatened to destroy the site, so archeologists raced to excavate it [3]. Inside the largest mound, they uncovered the bodies of 22 people buried in a ring around a central tomb which contained the remains of an infant [3]. Within the ring, an animal was also interred [3]. Seashell beads and carved bear-tooth pendants lay near its neck, suggesting it was buried with a collar [1, 3, 4]. The Hopewell peoples are known to have kept dogs and buried them in their villages, so the archaeologists labeled the small skeleton “puppy burial” and stuck it in storage at the Illinois State Museum at Springfield [3].
Bone and shell collar buried with the bobkitten – Photo by Kenneth Farnsworth, courtesy of Science
In 2011, Angela Perri was a doctoral student from the University of Durham in the UK doing research at the Illinois State Museum. She was interested in ancient dog burials, but when she opened the “puppy burial” box from the Elizabeth site, one look at the skull told her the remains were not canine. She knew she was looking at a cat. [3]
Perri’s curiosity was piqued, so she analyzed the bones and discovered that the animal was a bobkitten, 4-7 months old [1, 3, 4]. Perri and her colleagues were flabbergasted [3]. There is no other known instance of a bobcat buried in a Hopewell mortuary mound [3]. In fact, this is the only wild cat buried individually and with ceremony, the way a human or beloved pet would be, in the archeological record as we know it [1, 3, 4].
Interpreting a Site Like No Other
The fact that the bobkitten burial is unique makes it especially difficult to interpret. Perri and two other researchers studied this internment as well as eight other possible animal burials in Hopewell mounds in Illinois [4]. They concluded that the seven dogs were not deliberate burials [4]. A single roseate spoonbill was decapitated and buried beside two human bodies [4]. Only the bobcat was buried by itself, with the same sort of care taken with human bodies [4]. The skeleton bore no cut marks or other indications the animal was sacrificed [3]. Perri et al concluded that this is evidence that prehistoric Native Americans had a complex relationship with felids and may have tamed them [1, 3, 4].
The young age of the bobkitten suggests that villagers may have taken it from the wild, perhaps as an orphan, and raised it [1, 3]. Perri believes the shell-and-bone collar signifies that the bobkitten was a cherished pet [3]. If this bobcat was a tame pet, then the discovery is significant for the science and history of domestication [1, 3].
However, other archaeologists aren’t convinced. Melinda Zeder of the Smithsonian Institution points out that if Hopewell villagers regarded the bobcat as a pet, they probably would have buried it in the village as they did their pet dogs [3]. She believes the feline had spiritual significance for the Hopewell as a connection to the wild [3]. Even if this particular bobkitten was tamed and kept as a pet, that doesn’t necessarily mean the Hopewell tamed bobcats as a practice. For now, the find remains significant, but to an uncertain degree.
The Elizabeth site bobkitten was on display this year in the Illinois State Museum at Springfield’s temporary exhibit Walk on the Wild Side: The Story of Illinois Cats. See a virtual version of the exhibit here.
Works Cited
American Association for the Advancement of Science. (2015, July 3). Ancient bobcat had human burial. Science, 349(6243), 10. https://doi.org/10.1126/science.349.6243.8
Perri, A. R., Martin, T. J., and Farnsworth, K. B. (2015). A bobcat burial and other reported intentional animal burials from Illinois Hopewell mounds. Midcontinental Journal of Archaeology, 40(3), 282-301. https://doi.org/10.1179/2327427115Y.0000000007 [Abstract]
On October 15, 2020, Peru’s Ministry of Culture announced that a new carving, called a geoglyph, had been discovered at the Nazca lines site (5). The surprise addition was a cat–a very, very old one. The Nazca lines as a whole are an archeological wonder and a mystery. Yet the cat on the hill is a unique specimen among the titanic works of human ingenuity on display.
What Are the Nazca Lines?
The Nazca lines are a series of designs carved into the ground of the Peruvian coastal plain. Each design is called a geoglyph. Although other places around the world have geoglyphs, the Nazca lines site is among the most famous, and possibly the largest. The geoglyphs are scattered over approximately 450 square km (174 square miles) of desert (7). The geoglyphs include straight lines, over 800 of them, some of which are 48 km (30 miles) long; simple shapes and designs such as triangles and spirals; and a smaller number of animal, plant, human, and fantastical figures (1, 2, 4, 7)
Aerial View of Some of the Nazca Lines
Three groups of people are believed to have made the Nazca lines: the Chavin, Paracas, and Nazca cultures (6). Archeologists think the Nazca made most of the geoglyphs around 200 B.C. to 700 A.D. (1-3, 7). The Chavin and Paracas were earlier contributors (2, 7). There is no consensus as to why they made these massive works of art, but it must have been important to them, because it wasn’t easy.
To make these geoglyphs, the ancient artists removed 12 to 15 inches of reddish, iron oxide-coated pebbles to uncover the layer of sand below (2, 6). The designs are so big, they can’t be seen in their entirety from the ground, so the project required a lot of planning and cooperation. It must have taken a long time, but their work had staying power. Because the Nazca lines were carved into one of the driest places on the planet, they have held up for 2000 years (2).
As to the possible motive for such an undertaking, there are plenty of theories. An early theory proposed that the geoglyphs served an astronomical and calendrical function (1, 2, 7). Later researchers moved toward other theories, i.e. that the geoglyphs were part of a religious rite to bring water or fertility (2). Alternatively, the designs may have been signposts and ritual sites for pilgrims (1, 2). Experts in other fields have offered different explanations. I’ve heard it said that the Nazca lines were made as landing strips for alien spacecraft. Archeologists reject such claims.
A New Discovery
Although the Nazca lines have been under study since they were found almost 100 years ago, new geoglyphs are still discovered all the time (1, 4, 6). Usually, it is due to the efforts of the site’s researchers, but happy accidents happen, too. A crew was remodeling El Mirador Natural viewpoint when something on the hillside caught the eye of the supervising archeologists (5). With careful cleaning, the figure emerged. The 37 m (120 ft) long cat appears to be either laying on its side or standing in profile (1, 3, 5, 6). It has large, round eyes and a striped tail (1, 4).
Image from Peru Ministry of Culture
Unlike most of the geoglyphs, the cat on the hill is not thought to have been carved by the Nazca people (3, 5). It dates to between 200 and 100 B.C., making it to oldest geoglyph yet discovered at the Nazca lines (1, 4, 6)! That also makes it older than the Nazca people. Rather, the cat appears to be the handiwork of the Paracas culture (1, 3). They were around right before the Nazca, and the geoglyph matches the style of cats depicted on Paracas textiles and ceramics (1, 3).
We nearly lost this unique geoglyph before it was even found. According to Peru’s Ministry of Culture, “The figure was scarcely visible and was about to disappear, because it’s situated on quite a steep slope that’s prone to the effects of natural erosion” (5). And geoglyphs are extremely delicate. The reason the Nazca lines site has viewpoints in the first place is because a single footprint can irreparably damage a geoglyph (1, 4). Visitors are only allowed to view the designs from the designated viewpoints or from the air. Fortunately, no one accidentally destroyed this incredibly cool cat before it could be found and conserved.
What Cat is That?
There were no domestic cats in South America at the time the cat on the hill was etched into the earth. Which cat were the Paracas people commemorating, then? There’s no way to know for sure. It isn’t exactly a true-to-life representation. But I fell down a bit of a rabbit hole anyway. According to the International Society for Endangered Cats, there are nine small wild cats and two big cats. That’s according to size, not taxonomy. Much to my amusement, the top comment on the ISEC page for South America was somebody asking exactly this question. They didn’t get a clear answer, though, which meant I had to keep digging.
The geoglyph cat’s proportions and tall, pointy ears don’t seem much like either of the big cats, jaguar or puma. Besides, pumas don’t really have stripe-y tails. So, on to the small cats. Range and habitat can exclude a few. Andean cats live high in the Andean mountains. The kodkod only lives in forests in Chile. Margays and northern tiger cats are found in the interior forests. Southern tiger cats are too far south, oddly enough. That leaves the ocelot, Geoffrey’s cat, jaguarundi, and pampas cat.
Jaguarundis have short, round ears, no stripes, and kind of squinty eyes. Seems improbable. The other three are all reasonable candidates. I lean toward the pampas cat. The body shape looks a lot like the geoglyph, not just the eyes, ears, and stripes. So that’s my best guess, if anyone was wondering other than me. I think the Paracas people inscribed a 37-m pampas cat into a hillside. No one knows exactly why, but if you were going to put all that work into drawing something, it might as well be a cat.
United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization. (n.d.). Lines and geoglyphs of Nazca and Palpa. UNESCO World Heritage Centre. https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/700/
Pluie de poissons (Rain of Fish) by Olaus Magnus, 1555 – Public Domain from Wikipedia
It’s a dark and stormy weekend, so I felt inspired to investigate the origins of a strange English-language idiom: It’s raining cats and dogs. Cats feature in quite a few English idioms, and all of the ones that spring to mind are really rather strange. This is probably a topic I’ll come back to because I find it fascinating. For anyone who isn’t familiar with the phrase, to say it’s raining cats and dogs means it is absolutely pouring down rain.
But what does this have to do with our pets? Certainly nothing obvious. There have been real life reports of fish, frogs, and other small animals falling from the sky during storms. Seriously, Google it. It’s fascinating. But as far as I know, no one has ever seen cats and/or dogs raining from the heavens. So why would we say it’s raining cats and dogs instead of fish and frogs?
The first known instance of “raining cats and dogs” was in 1738 in Jonathan Swift’s A Complete Collection of Polite and Ingenious Conversation, where he wrote “I know Sir John will go, though he was sure it would rain cats and dogs” (1, 2, 3). However, it may have been in common use before that, and there are literary instances of the phrase in other forms at least as early as the 17th century (1, 2, 3).
As is often the case with language, trying to track down the origin of this phrase has proved tricky. The older and more widely-disseminated an idiom becomes, the murkier its background tends to get. Language naturally changes over time, and the original turn of phrase is often lost. There are several theories that “raining cats and dogs” is what’s known as a corruption of a foreign phrase. That is to say, a phrase in one language is repeated verbatim by native speakers of another, and it evolves into something else.
One of these theories claims that our modern idiom began with the Greek phrase kata doksa, which means “contrary to expectation” (1). It is sometimes used to describe heavy rain, along with other unexpected things (1). This phrase does bear an audiological resemblance to “cats and dogs,” and the use to describe rain in its native language is promising. However, this requires kata doksa to have made its way into English usage. If this happened, no one has been able to track that journey (1).
The Greek word for the thunderous cataracts of the Nile river, Katadoupoi, has also been suggested as a possible source (1). In this case, an obscure French word for waterfall, catadoupe, is said to be the link between the Greek and the English (2, 3, 4). English speakers are thought to have turned the French word into “cats and dogs” over time (4), although some think it rather a stretch to find dogs anywhere in catadoupe (1, 3).
With some reverse-engineering, Italian and Dutch phrases have also been put forth as possible origins, but without solid evidence (1). Another popular theory discards linguistic evolution in favor of Nordic mythology. This school of thought posits that dogs/wolves were associated with Odin, god of storms, thus the canines were themselves associated with stormy winds (1, 2, 3, 4). Cats, then were said to symbolize rain or be thought to bring rain (1, 2, 3, 4). This was either the superstition of sailors (4) or because cats were associated with witches, who rode the storms in the form of their feline familiars (1, 3).
As interesting as that is, the mythology doesn’t support it. Odin is not a storm god (1). Perhaps someone was thinking of Thor? Moreover, the animals associated with Odin are a horse and two ravens, not dogs and wolves (1). While cats and witchcraft became strongly linked in European folklore, they aren’t a part of Nordic myth like this popular theory would have us believe (1).
Maybe the origins of this bizarre idiom aren’t to be found abroad, but rather in England, its native soil. A rather practical but very depressing theory is based on the poor urban infrastructure of 17th century England. The rivers and even the streets were essentially both open sewers and landfills. When animals died, people threw them in the waterways or left them out on the street. Stray and feral cats and dogs were everywhere, too. They were left where they died. Without storm drains, it’s possible that some animals drowned during heavy downpours, contributing to the number of dead cats and dogs that would be seen floating in the streets and rivers during or after a heavy rain (1, 3, 4).
This sad scene may have prompted some people to think that the animals had actually fallen with the rain or at least to make an association between the two phenomena (1, 4). However, people would be used to seeing dead animals on the streets and in their waterways during dry weather as well, so this idea is a bit of a stretch (3). Still, the 1600s were a strange time, and people came up with a lot of strange ideas.
Another suggestion, which I remember hearing somewhere, refers to conditions in even earlier times. It starts with thatched roofs. A thatched roof is made of layers of dried vegetation, forming an insulating and waterproof covering. This was the traditional form of roofing in many parts of the world, including England in centuries past.
The story goes that small animals and even family pets or stray cats and dogs would take shelter from inclement weather in the thatching of English homes (5). If the rain came down hard enough they would slip and fall out, thus making it seem to rain cats and dogs (3). This hypothesis seems to have primarily circulated in one of those fun fact emails that used to be so popular (3). It probably has no basis in reality. That small animals like bugs and mice lived in thatched roofs is likely, but to suppose anything as large as cats and dogs did is pretty ridiculous (3). I am embarrassed to admit that I believed this rumor for years nonetheless.
Perhaps trying to find an explanation for this phrase is besides the point, though. One of the more common theories is that the idiom has no complicated origin, but is simply a silly and imaginative phrase that someone came up with to describe heavy rain (2, 3, 4). If we consider some of the idioms in other languages used to refer to such deluges, this starts to make sense. Some, such as “it’s raining buckets” or “jugs” are pretty straightforward, as they suggest water pouring out of a vessel (5). Others are much more creative. Below are some of my favorites (5, 6):
Welsh: It’s raining old women and sticks
Slovak: Tractors are falling
Greek: It’s raining chair legs
Spanish: It’s raining toads and snakes
Aussie English: It’s a frog strangler
And many, many more of varying degrees of weirdness. Maybe there is a reasonable explanation for why we say it’s raining cats and dogs, as it is outside my window right now. Maybe there’s an explanation for all the strange things people say about the weather. Or maybe there’s no really reason for any of it besides human creativity. Probably no one will ever know for sure. Personally, I’m glad there aren’t any tractors falling.
