A Woman Had a Cat That Sucked Milk From Her Neighbours' Cows. What on Earth?
A Woman Had a Cat That Sucked Milk From Her Neighbours' Cows. What on Earth?
Look what I found in a medieval visitation record.
A bishop was visiting the churches of medieval Herefordshire.
And among the things reported to his officials was an accusation of sorcery against a woman who allegedly kept an animal in the shape of a cat which sucked milk from her neighbours' cows.
Wait. WHAT?
So what are we actually looking at?
This comes from the surviving records of episcopal visitations in the Diocese of Hereford.
By the late thirteenth century, bishops were carrying out increasingly organised inspections of the churches and communities within their dioceses. Their officials collected information about the condition of churches, the behaviour of clergy and the conduct of local people.
And people complained.
Quite a lot.
What did they report?
The records contain accusations and observations concerning things such as:
- adultery and fornication
- violence and disorder
- usury
- clergy keeping concubines
- poorly maintained church buildings
- missing church lights
- defective baptisteries
- neglected rectories and chapels
And then there's the cat.
Or, more accurately, an accusation involving a woman and an animal described as being in the shape of a cat, which was said to suck milk from her neighbours' cows.
But here's where it gets interesting.
It's very tempting to read this and think:
βSo medieval people genuinely believed a woman had a magical milk-stealing cat.β
But the record doesn't necessarily allow us to say that.
What we have is an accusation.
Someone reported something to the bishop's officials, and the allegation was written down as part of an official visitation.
That doesn't tell us whether the animal actually existed.
It doesn't tell us whether the woman admitted to anything.
It doesn't tell us whether the accusation was true.
And it doesn't even tell us exactly what was happening between the woman and her neighbours.
So why was the bishop asking?
Because these visitations weren't simply religious tours.
They were part of an increasingly organised system of inspecting churches and investigating the behaviour of clergy and communities.
Local people could present faults and complaints to the bishop's officials, who recorded them and could investigate further or order corrections.
In other words, someone had to actually tell the authorities about the milk-stealing cat.
And that is what makes these records so fascinating.
Medieval history can sometimes feel impossibly distant.
Kings. Bishops. Battles. Castles.
But then a document survives in which somebody has essentially said:
βThere's a woman in our neighbourhood and her cat is drinking our cows' milk.β
And suddenly you're looking at something much more recognisable.
Neighbours complaining about neighbours.
Officials taking notes.
Rumours becoming allegations.
And a community deciding that something was serious enough to report.
Here's what we know.
The accusation was recorded during the medieval visitation process in the Diocese of Hereford.
The surviving records preserve a remarkable range of complaints and observations about local communities.
Here's what we don't know.
We don't know whether the woman actually kept such an animal.
We don't know what the animal really was.
We don't know whether the cows were actually losing milk.
And we don't know what happened to the woman afterwards.
But we do know one thing.
Someone thought it was worth telling the bishop.
And honestly, I have so many questions.
What did this βcatβ actually look like?
Was someone stealing milk?
Was there a perfectly ordinary explanation?
Or was this simply a neighbourly dispute that somehow ended up in the bishop's paperwork?
We may never know.
Image Source
Source
Records of episcopal visitations in the Diocese of Hereford, including the visitation records of Richard Swinfield, Bishop of Hereford, in the late thirteenth century.