Atal, the innkeeper’s son, vowed that he had at twilight seen all the cats of Ulthar in that accursed yard under the trees, pacing very slowly and solemnly in a circle around the cottage, two abreast, as if in performance of some unheard-of rite of beasts.

"The Cats of Ulthar" by H.P. Lovecraft

(Really antiziganist short story but big don't fuck with cats energy)