It is a fact rarely disputed by older residents that the black cats of Horsingdon play an important role in the guardianship of the region, patrolling the points at which its praeternatural topography forms a boundary with other realms of being; hardy hunters, they stalk the extramundane powers which so-often slip silently into our world, forcing them back from whence they came, through hiss, through tooth, and through claw - or killing and consuming them outright. The partially-eaten remnants of anomalous creatures sporadically discovered in the woods and fields of Horsingdon are the remainder of their sport. These cats are often encountered about gates and doorways, slinking mysteriously about their business. On occasion, they can be persuaded - usually by an act of kindness or a gift of especially creamy milk - to give up one of their lesser secrets.
Black cats have, understandably, long been associated with the witchlore of the region; they are certainly the favoured familiars of the guardians of the Black Bowers. These inky mousers are, however, known to serve their masters and mistresses with what can only be described as a haughty indifference, often pursuing their own inscrutable agendas: at times abandoning their owners should they meander too far along the path of folly, and even doing them harm if maltreated.
In the latter instance, one locally famous case of leonine retribution involves a singularly rotund and enigmatic beast known as Mehegerty the Blackhearted, whose owner (a witch with a particularly malign reputation) disrespectfully threatened to cast the poor feline out into the cold on an especially bitter Winter's night; Mehegerty's vengeful retort was to fix a baleful green stare upon his cruel mistress, who choked to death - slowly and painfully - on the spot.
So if, during your travels throughout Horsingdon, you should encounter a black cat - or indeed one of its kin of another stripe - greet it with affection and goodwill, as your journey may be a safer one for it.