How to Call a Familiar 

Before we fought them to wear belled collars and itchy sweaters, cats have always been curious outsiders. Whether it be their moon-eyed stares or the general aloofness of the local goth kid, cats became linked with witches through the imagery of old wise women sitting by the fire, their “familiars” curling up beside them to enjoy its warmth.

We’ve all heard of barn cats: cats that work for a saucer of milk, food, and a warm place to sleep. Similar to the folk beliefs of house spirits or fairies, cats were often left dairy, bread, and cheeses in exchange for cleaning the house or protecting it. In much the same way, cats as the witch’s familiar were seen as spies or even the witches themselves, taking on their forms to commit atrocities such as sitting on infants’ chests and suffocating them (similar to the Night Hag myth).

Truthfully, I never considered myself a cat person. When I was about four years old, my family had a cat named Salem. I fed him too many treats, and he threw up (and also sprayed all over the house), so my dad took him down to his farm, and I never saw him again. I then had a cat that lived under my father’s shed that I named Daisy. Daisy got pregnant, though, and again my father took her down to his farm, never to be seen again.

I wouldn’t be writing this today, though, if I hadn’t had a cat stamp its biscuit makers on my heart. In 2024, I was at my friend’s apartment watching a WWE event. My friends had a small cat colony that lived outside their apartment, and while the landlords were excessively cruel to them (trapping them and leaving them there to die), my friends and some of the other tenants did TNR efforts and fed the cats, at the risk of breaking their lease. That being said, it wasn’t strange for me to go outside between matches and feed the cats some treats and give them some pets (if they so allowed).

That night, though, there was one kitten that sat outside the door the entire time like an unwavering little wraith. Just looking at her, I could tell the aura of death had already begun to surround her. Her eyes were entirely crusted over, her fur matted, and she weighed a whopping one pound (and had ribs showing to prove it).

I found myself more invested in this little wisp than the actual men and women being bodyslammed through tables on TV. She looked as though she could be cast away as easily as a candle flame or some dust off an old record. It was an October night, and with the lack of meat on her bones, I knew she must have been cold (and if she wasn’t now, then she would be in the coming winter). The other cats also didn’t seem to give her much love either, almost as though she had been thrust out of their little cat Eden. As the temperatures dropped down and down, I continued to eye her shivering atop her concrete desert. Then my partner said it: “If you don’t take it, it’s going to die.”

So I did, not knowing the stories that awaited us both.

On my way home, we stopped at Wal-Mart, and I picked her up flea shampoo, cat food, a food bowl, and some toys. She didn’t have the strength to fight me then (like she does now), so I got her cleaned up, and then she lay on my bed, unmoving like an excavated Egyptian statue. I wasn’t sure she was going to make it, but I was thankful to see her eating from her food bowl in the morning. It was then I gave her a name. A name fitting only a queen: Lilith (or Lily for the normies).

I scheduled her a vet appointment for the next day, and after she was dewormed, received her vaccines, and got Terramycin for her crusty eyes, it seemed like all was well. When she was finally able to open her eyes fully, they turned to peridot stones she used to glamour her way into my heart. However, people say when you get a free pet, you always wind up paying for it later.

After a couple of weeks, Lily suddenly became very sick. She stopped eating, her eyes crusted over again, and she seemed to be in extreme respiratory distress. I rushed her to the vet and learned that she was suffering from Feline Calicivirus.

I remember the doctor coming into the room to tell me, with a look of sympathy on her face. They told me her chances weren’t good. While many cats recover with supportive care, young kittens, especially those who are malnourished or already vulnerable like Lily, can experience more severe illness. Thankfully, I had a vet team that, like me, was never so quick to give up on her.

By that point, I had Lily for about two weeks, and the idea of losing her caused a chasm in my heart that I didn’t know was possible anymore. The vet came up with a formula called “magic mouthwash”: a potion concocted of several different types of medications that I had to give Lily via oral syringe for two weeks. At this point, I had just started gaining her trust, so the fact that I had to deal her doses of the elixir of love twice a day, I thought, would surely fray any sort of relationship we had. Strangely enough, though, it brought us closer.

While she was still weak, I found her seeking me out more often, even if just to lie next to me. As we reached toward the end of her treatment and she began feeling better, she suddenly wanted to play all the time (and she still ALWAYS does, two years later). We had an unspoken bond. Every time I had to shove the unpleasant concoction down her throat, I combined it with “I will do everything in my power to protect you,” or a prayer to Bastet and St. Gertrude (the patron saint of cats).

In the old days, it was believed that witches took on the form of their cats to spy, but I think this is often misunderstood. A witch can take on any animal as a familiar, but it is never something the witch chooses; and as much of a blessing as these familiars are, they are simply a physical manifestation of a spirit sent to guide the witch and their craft, a connection that has often existed throughout many lifetimes. In a way, a witch does take on the form of their cat in order to embody what lessons need to be learned from them.

Now it’s been two years, and while Lily still has flare-ups of illness, we have found ways to combat them. I’ve found that L-lysine every morning is one way of managing flare-ups, as well as providing her immune support food. Every once in a while, she will have to go on a steroid to manage her swollen lymph nodes, but overall, Lily and her luminous silver coat have taught me about balance and the power that lies in consistency. If I am able to stay consistent with her health, that in turn helps me stay consistent in other areas of my life.

Familiars aren’t exactly called; they more so appear when there’s a part of your soul that needs reignition. If you believe in animism, everything in nature has a soul, and just like human souls can come together for love or business connections, human and animal spirits can come together to fulfill their own magical purposes.

That being said, you can’t force a cat, or any other animal for that matter, to love you. If we can learn anything from our familiars, it is that love doesn’t chase; it follows when the time is right and knows how to set physical and spiritual boundaries. They appear when there’s a part of the soul that needs replenished after paying the great debt to the darkness of the world. Cats see well in this darkness and have the sight for the light that we possess even when we ourselves feel depleted of it. They are not just pets; they are teachers who embody aspects that we must embrace.

So, if you’re seeking out a familiar, just know it’s not for the feeble-hearted; but carrying some catnip in your pocket might help!

About the Author

Jawn Van Jacobs is a rock n roll poet, myth-maker and soothsayer. His work has appeared in Cool Beans Lit, Underbelly Press, and Paper Dragon. This rock n roll poet lights up raw narratives, shedding light on the lives of those living on the hedges of society. His debut chapbook, bastard bee, was published by Finishing Line Press in August 2025.