My initial attempts to penetrate the dark secrets of the Necronomicon were, naturally, extremely difficult. At times I found myself recoiling from the page as if in response to some physical attack. Other times, even placing my fingers upon the desiccated leather of that horrid tome’s cover sent me into such fits that I had to excuse myself from the library. My progress was slow, but despite my revulsion, I continued to press on.

I read of vial secret things, of Cthulhu and the ancient Deep Ones, of their rivals in the Arctic and the Mi-go, of the formless swirling madness of Azathoth, of the Yellow Sign, and other secrets to terrible to recount. There came a time when I felt my consciousness teetering on the edge of madness. Fortunately, my resolve remained strong, and it was in the tails of the myth-shrouded Plateau of Leng, of the otherwise unassuming little tail of a boy and his pet in the hamlet of Ulthar, that I found what I sought. The stimulus that would end madness forever would be a cat.