The Troll
Turned Cat (Danish folk tale) 
About a quarter of a mile from Soröe lies Pedersborg, and a little further on is the town of Lyng. Just between these towns is a hill called
Bröndhöi (Spring-hill), where it is believed that the troll-people live.
The story goes that there lived once among these troll-people of Bröndhöi an old bad-tempered, difficult and very stubborn troll, whom
the rest nick-named Knurremurre (Rumble-grumble), because he was always the cause of noise and uproar within the hill.
One day the Knurremurre discovered what he thought to be a great degree of intimacy between his young wife and a young troll of the
society and that made him very upset. He vowed vengeance and swore that he would have the life of the young troll.
The younger troll, when he found out that Knurremurre had sworn to kill him he , thought that it would better if he left the hill till things got
better and it was safe for him to come back...
So he transformed himself into a tortoiseshell tom-cat and one fine morning he left his old residence, and journeyed down to the
neighbouring town of Lyng. There he found a good home in the house of an honest poor man named Plat.
There he lived for a long time comfortable and easy life, with nothing to annoy him, and was as happy as any tom-cat or troll crossed in
love well could have been.
Every day he had plenty of milk and food and he lay the whole day long behind the stove on his comfortable chair behind the stove.
But one evening Pat came home rather late. The cat was sitting at his usual place, scraping meal-scrubs out of a pot, and licking the
pot itself carefully. 'Harkye, cat,' said Plat, as he came in at the door, ‘Wait till I tell you what happened to me on the road. Just as I was
coming past Bröndhöi, there came out a troll, who called out to me, and said;
‘Harkye Plat
Tell your cat,
That Knurremurre is dead’.
The moment the cat heard these words, he tumbled the pot down on the floor, sprang out of the chair, and stood up on his hind-legs.
Then, as he hurried out of the door, he cried out with joy. 'What! is Knurremurre dead? He asked. Then I may go home as fast as I
please.' And saying so he scampered off to the hill, to the amazement of honest Plat; and, it is likely, that he lost no time in making his
advances to the young widow.
(Original translation from Thomas Keightly,The
Fairy Mythology, London, H.G. Bohn, 1850)
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