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“You see, a witch has to have a familiar, some little animal like a cat or a toad. He helps her somehow. When the witch dies the familiar is suppose to die too, but sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes, if it's absorbed enough magic, it lives on. Maybe this toad found its way south from Salem, from the days when Cotton Mather was hanging witches. Or maybe Lafitte had a Creole girl who called on the Black Man in the pirate-haven of Barataria. The Gulf is full of ghosts and memories, and one of those ghosts might very well be that of a woman with warlock blood who'd come from Europe a long time ago, and died on the new continent.

And possibly her familiar didn't know the way home. There's not much room for magic in America now, but once there was room.

("Before I Wake...")”
― Henry Kuttner, Masters of Horror

“She is a Weyward. And she carries another Weyward inside her. She gathers herself together, every cell blazing, and thinks: Now.
The window breaks, a waterfall of sharp sounds. The room grows dark with feathered bodies, shooting through the broken window, the fireplace.
Beaks, claws, and eyes flashing. Feathers brushing her skin. Simon yells, his hand loosening on her throat.
She sucks in the air, falling to her knees, one hand cradling her stomach. Something touches her foot, and she sees a dark tide of spiders spreading across the floor. Birds continue to stream through the window. Insects, too: the azure flicker of damselflies, moths with orange eyes on their wings. Tiny, gossamer mayflies. Bees in a ferocious golden swarm.
She feels something sharp on her shoulder, its claws digging into her flesh. She looks up at blue-black feathers, streaked with white. A crow. The same crow that has watched over her since she arrived. Tears fill her eyes, and she knows in that moment that she is not alone in the cottage. Altha is there, in the spiders that dance across the floor. Violet is there, in the mayflies that glisten and undulate like some great silver snake. And all the other Weyward women, from the first of the line, are there, too.
They have always been with her, and always will be.”
― Emilia Hart, Weyward

“A familiar is such a creature, an animal or bird that sees inside to the very soul of its human companion, and knows what others might not.
What fears there might be, and what joys, for it shares the emotions of its human partner.”
― Alice Hoffman, Magic Lessons

“A dragon for a familiar!" Trom exclaimed.

"That's what I said to her or close to it anyway," the dragon said.

"You're supposed to be helping me make you my familiar," I said to the dragon.

"Yeah, I know; I meant for that to sound better than it did," the dragon replied.”
― Jennifer Priester, Mortal Realm Witch: Learning about Magic

“I did exactly as Sampson said and I conjured up a creature with rabbit ears,
a wolf face, a snake body, frog feet, a pig tail, and spikes running from the top of its head to the end of its tail.

“Now,� Sampson said. “This is the
kind of magic that you shouldn’t do.”
― Jennifer Priester, Mortal Realm Witch: The Magic Continues

“Yeah, well, what are you going to teach me next...how to take over the world?â€� I asked sarcastically.

“Good idea!� Sampson exclaimed a little too enthusiastically.

“No, bad idea!� I stressed.

“See? You are learning,â€� Sampson said.”
― Jennifer Priester

“One was an ancient tortoiseshell cat with arthritis, who creaked around the house--but when Aunt Sibby flickered her fingers and crooned, Miminy, miminy, tall-as-a-chi-mi-ny, danced on his hind legs like a kitten.”
― Jane Louise Curry, Parsley Sage, Rosemary & Time

“Possessing magic and being possessed by magic are two sides of the same coin.”
― Lynne M. Hinkey, Ye Gods! a Tale of Dogs and Demons

“A crow can recall every route it has ever taken, and Cadin had been this way before. Crows are messengers, spies, guides, companions, harbingers of luck, deliverers of trinkets and treasures, tireless in all ways, more loyal than any other man or beast.”
― Alice Hoffman, Magic Lessons

“The fox barked at her, one sharp, short sound.
Without expecting to, Irène laughed. "What?" she said aloud.
The fox's mouth opened, showing its white teeth, and its tongue lolled, laughing with her.
A sense of recognition tingled in Irène's bones and throbbed in her forehead. Her laughter died. She came to her feet, facing the creature. It scrambled down from the tree trunk, its lithe body weaving through the branches as easily as a stream of water might. It stood on the opposite bank. Its tail arced above its back, a plume of red and black. Its unblinking gaze fixed itself on her.
Irène whispered, "Are you here for me?"
Again the fox's mouth opened in its grin, and its tail waved once, twice, before it leaped the little brook as easily as if it could fly. Irène stood very still as the fox stepped toward her on narrow black feet as dainty as a dancer's. It---he, she could see now---pressed his cold black nose against the back of her hand, and, when she turned it, nosed her palm.
She thrilled at the touch, though the touch of so many other beasts disgusted her. He was different, this fox. It was not just that he was beautiful, and graceful. It was more, much more. Her soul knew him. Her power flared in his presence.
He took a step back, his eyes never leaving hers, then whirled and leaped back over the brook to disappear into the forest on the other side. The last thing she saw was that lush red-and-black tail, switching back and forth as he faded into the dimness of the woods.
Irène brought her palm to her nose and sniffed the toasty smell of him. She knew what he was, and she knew what it meant. Her mother had Aramis. Her grandmother, Ursule had told her, had had an ugly gray cat. And she---now, surely, a witch in full possession of her power---had a glorious vulpine creature like no other. She had her fox. She would see him again.”
― Louisa Morgan, A Secret History of Witches

“Well, ours have old souls,â€� her eyes glint again in the candlelight. “The cats here really do have nine lives, but not in the way you might think. Our cats come back to live again in different bodies, nine full lifetimes for our little ones. Our familiars. It means they can stay with a witch throughout her entire life, living side by side. Because a witch and her familiar is a bond for eternity. A witch’s cat won’t die until she does.”
― Kassandra Cross, Black Magic

“A common theme in both shamanism and Witchcraft is the relationship between the spiritual practitioner and the spirit world—in particular, the relationship that the practitioner has with a specific spirit, often referred to in Witchcraft as the 'familiar'.”
― Storm Faerywolf, Forbidden Mysteries of Faery Witchcraft