by Shaun Usher
THE LETTER
Sir,
I hope you will not suspect me of making a bid for his affection, when I remark that the Average Man loves the Obvious. By consequence (for, like all unthinking creatures, the duffer’s logical), by consequence, his attitude towards the Subtle, the Elusive, when not an attitude of mere torpid indifference, is an attitude of positive distrust and dislike.
Of this ignoble fact, pretty nearly everything – from the popularity of beer and skittles, to the popularity of Mr. Hall Caine’s novels; from the general’s distaste for caviare, to the general’s neglect of Mr. Henry James’s tales – pretty nearly everything is a reminder. But, to go no further afield, for the moment, than his own hearthrug, may I ask you to consider a little the relative positions occupied in the Average Man’s regard by the Dog and the Cat?
The Average Man ostentatiously loves the Dog.
The Average Man, when he is not torpidly indifferent to that princely animal, positively distrusts and dislikes the Cat.
I have used the epithet “princely” with intention, in speaking of the near relative of the King of Beasts. The Cat is a Princess of the Blood. Yes, my dear, always a Princess, though the Average Man, with his unerring instinct for the malappropriate word, sometimes names her Thomas. The Cat is always a Princess, because everything nice in this world, everything fine, sensitive, distinguished, everything beautiful, everything worth while, is of essence Feminine, though it may be male by the accident of sex;– and that’s as true as gospel, let Mr. W. E. Henley’s lusty young disciples shout their loudest in celebration of the Virile. – The Cat is a Princess.
The Dog, on the contrary, is not even a gentleman. Far otherwise. His admirers may do what they will to forget it, the circumstance remains, writ large in every Natural History, that the Dog is sprung from quite the meanest family of the Quadrupeds. That coward thief the wolf is his bastard brother; the carrion hyena is his cousin-german. And in his person, as in his character, bears he not an hundred marks of his base descent? In his rough coat (contrast it with the silken mantle of the Cat); in his harsh, monotonous voice (contrast it with the flexible organ of the Cat, her versatile mewings, chirrupings, and purrings, and their innumerable shades and modulations); in the stiff-jointed clumsiness of his movements (compare them to the inexpressible grace and suppleness of the Cat’s); briefly, in the all-pervading plebeian commonness that hangs about him like an atmosphere (compare it to the high-bred reserve and dignity that invest the Cat). The wolf’s brother, is the Dog not himself a coward? Watch him when, emulating the ruffian who insults an unprotected lady, he puts a Cat to flight in the streets: watch him when the lady halts and turns. Faugh, the craven! with his wild show of savagery so long as there is not the slightest danger – and his sudden chopfallen drawing back when the lady halts and turns! The hyena’s cousin, is he not himself of carrion an impassioned amateur? At Constantinople he serves (’tis a labour of love; he receives no stipend) he serves as Public Scavenger, swallowing with greed the ordures cast by the Turk. Scripture tells us to what he returneth: who has failed to observe that he returneth not to his own alone? And the other day, strolling upon the sands by the illimitable sea, I came upon a friend and her pet terrier. She was holding the little beggar by the scruff of his neck, and giving him repeated sousings in a pool. I stood a pleased spectator of this exercise, for the terrier kicked and spluttered and appeared to be unhappy. “He found a decaying jelly-fish below there, and rolled in it,” my friend pathetically explained. I should like to see the Cat who could be induced to roll in a decaying jelly-fish. The Cat’s fastidiousness, her meticulous cleanliness, the time and the pains she bestows upon her toilet, and her almost morbid delicacy about certain more private errands, are among the material indications of her patrician nature. It were needless to allude to the vile habits and impudicity of the Dog.
Have you ever met a Dog who wasn’t a bounder? Have you ever met a Dog who wasn’t a bully, a sycophant, and a snob? Have you ever met a Cat who was? Have you ever met a Cat who would half frighten a timid little girl to death, by rushing at her and barking? Have you ever met a Cat who, left alone with a visitor in your drawing-room, would truculently growl and show her teeth, as often as that visitor ventured to stir in his chair? Have you ever met a Cat who would snarl and snap at the servants, Mawster’s back being turned? Have you ever met a Cat who would cringe to you and fawn to you, and kiss the hand that smote her?
Conscious of her high lineage, the Cat understands and accepts the responsibilities that attach to it. She knows what she owes to herself, to her rank, to the Royal Idea. Therefore, it is you who must be the courtier. The Dog, poor-spirited toady, will study your eye to divine your mood, and slavishly adapt his own mood and his behaviour to it. Not so the Cat. As between you and her, it is you who must do the toadying. A guest in the house, never a dependent, she remembers always the courtesy and the consideration that are her due. You must respect her pleasure. Is it her pleasure to slumber, and do you disturb her: note the disdainful melancholy with which she silently comments your rudeness. Is it her pleasure to be grave: tempt her to frolic, you will tempt in vain. Is it her pleasure to be cold: nothing in human possibility can win a caress from her. Is it her pleasure to be rid of your presence: only the physical influence of a closed door will persuade her to remain in the room with you. It is you who must be the courtier, and wait upon her desire.
But then!
When, in her own good time, she chooses to unbend, how graciously, how entrancingly, she does it! Oh, the thousand wonderful lovelinesses and surprises of her play! The wit, the humour, the imagination, that inform it! Her ruses, her false leads, her sudden triumphs, her feigned despairs! And the topazes and emeralds that sparkle in her eyes; the satiny lustre of her apparel; the delicious sinuosities of her body! And her parenthetic interruptions of the game: to stride in regal progress round the apartment, flourishing her tail like a banner: or coquettishly to throw herself in some enravishing posture at length upon the carpet at your feet: or (if she loves you) to leap upon your shoulder, and press her cheek to yours, and murmur rapturous assurances of her passion! To be loved by a Princess! Whosoever, from the Marquis de Carabas down, has been loved by a Cat, has savoured that felicity. My own particular treasure of a Cat, at this particular moment is lying wreathed about my neck, watching my pen as it moves along the paper, and purring approbation of my views. But when, from time to time, I chance to use a word that doesn’t strike her altogether as the fittest, she reaches down her little velvet paw, and dabs it out. I should like to see the Dog who could do that.
But – the Cat is subtle, the Cat is elusive, the Cat is not to be read at a glance, the Cat is not a simple equation. And so the Average Man, gross mutton-devouring, money-grubbing mechanism that he is, when he doesn’t just torpidly tolerate her, distrusts her and dislikes her. A great soul, misappreciated, misunderstood, she sits neglected in his chimney-corner; and the fatuous idgit never guesses how she scorns him.
But – the Dog is obvious. Any fool can grasp the meaning of the Dog. And the Average Man, accordingly, recreant for once to the snobbism which is his religion, hugs the hyena’s cousin to his bosom.
What of it?
Only this: that in the Average Man’s sentimental attitude towards the Dog and the Cat, we have a formula, a symbol, for his sentimental attitude towards many things, especially for his sentimental attitude towards Books.
Some books, in their uncouthness, their awkwardness, their boisterousness, in their violation of the decencies of art, in their low truckling to the tastes of the purchaser, in their commonness, their vulgarity, in their total lack of suppleness and distinction, are the very Dogs of Bookland. The Average Man loves ’em.
Such as they are, they’re obvious.
And other books, by reason of their beauties and their virtues, their graces and refinements; because they are considered finished; because they are delicate, distinguished, aristocratic; because their touch is light,
their movement deft and fleet; because they proceed by omission, by implication and suggestion; because they employ the demi-mot and the nuance; because, in fine, they are Subtle – other books are the Cats of Bookland.
And the Average Man hates them or ignores them.
I have the honour, dear Mr. Editor, to subscribe myself, as ever,
Your obedient servant,
THE YELLOW DWARF.
LETTER 13
CAT VERSUS BIRD
Adlai Stevenson II to the Members of the Senate of the 66th General Assembly
23 April 1949
In 1949, having succumbed to pressure from Friends of Birds, Inc., an organisation formed for the ‘promotion of kindness to birds’, the Illinois Legislature passed Senate Bill No. 93, titled ‘An Act to Provide Protection to Insectivorous Birds by Restraining Cats’, which sought to punish financially, up to $5 per violation, those cat owners who allowed their pets to roam free, without a leash. The bill was met largely with ridicule, not least from pet owners who were acutely aware that cats, unlike dogs, would simply not stand for such a thing. Luckily for the cats and their owners, the newly elected Illinois Democratic governor, Adlai Stevenson II, was similarly unimpressed and vetoed the bill with a letter that soon made the news.
THE LETTER
STATE OF ILLINOIS
EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENT
SPRINGFIELD
April 23, 1949
To the Honorable, the Members of the Senate of the Sixty-sixth General Assembly:
I herewith return, without my approval, Senate Bill No. 93, entitled, “An Act to Provide Protection to Insectivorous Birds by Restraining Cats.” This is the so-called “Cat Bill.” I veto and withhold my approval from this Bill for the following reasons:
It would impose fines on owners or keepers who permitted their cats to run at large off their premises. It would permit any person to capture or call upon the police to pick up and imprison, cats at large. It would permit the use of traps. The bill would have statewide application – on farms, in villages, and in metropolitan centers.
This legislation has been introduced in the past several sessions of the Legislature, and it has, over the years, been the source of much comment – not all of which has been in a serious vein. It may be that the General Assembly has now seen fit to refer it to one who can view it with a fresh outlook. Whatever the reasons for passage at this session, I cannot believe there is a widespread public demand for this law or that it could, as a practical matter, be enforced.
Furthermore, I cannot agree that it should be the declared public policy of Illinois that a cat visiting a neighbor’s yard or crossing the highway is a public nuisance. It is in the nature of cats to do a certain amount of unescorted roaming. Many live with their owners in apartments or other restricted premises, and I doubt if we want to make their every brief foray an opportunity for a small game hunt by zealous citizens – with traps or otherwise. I am afraid this Bill could only create discord, recrimination and enmity. Also consider the owner’s dilemma: To escort a cat abroad on a leash is against the nature of the cat, and to permit it to venture forth for exercise unattended into a night of new dangers is against the nature of the owner. Moreover, cats perform useful service, particularly in rural areas, in combating rodents – work they necessarily perform alone and without regard for property lines.
We are all interested in protecting certain varieties of birds. That cats destroy some birds, I well know, but I believe this legislation would further but little the worthy cause to which its proponents give such unselfish effort. The problem of cat versus bird is as old as time. If we attempt to resolve it by legislation who knows but what we may be called upon to take sides as well in the age old problems of dog versus cat, bird versus bird, or even bird versus worm. In my opinion, the State of Illinois and its local governing bodies already have enough to do without trying to control feline delinquency.
For these reasons, and not because I love birds the less or cats the more, I veto and withhold my approval from Senate Bill No. 93.
Respectfully,
ADLAI E. STEVENSON
Governor
LETTER 14
THE CAT ORGAN
‘Mary Midnight’ to the Royal Society
1751
In 1751, a bizarre letter was reprinted in The Midwife magazine that raised more than a few of its many readers’ eyebrows. Addressed to the Royal Society in London (the world’s oldest scientific academy) and written by a ‘Mary Midnight’, it described in great detail the Cat-Organ, a rare musical instrument powered by living, breathing, meowing cats. In actual fact, the letter was satirical, and Mary Midnight was a pseudonym used to comic effect by Christopher Smart, an English poet born in Kent in 1722 who was friends with Samuel Johnson, and who, when he wasn’t sending spoof correspondence, put on shows in which he dressed in drag and performed as Mrs Midnight. Life for Smart took a darker turn in 1757, when he was committed to a mental asylum for six years. It was there that he wrote his greatest poetry.
THE LETTER
GENTLEMEN,
I need not inform persons of your infinite experience and erudition, that the Cat-Organ, as it has hitherto been made use of, was no more than what followeth, viz. A plain harpsichord; which, instead of having strings and jacks, consists of Cats of different sizes, included in boxes, whose voices express every note in the gamut, which is extorted from the imprisoned animals by placing their tails in grooves, which are properly squeezed by the impression of the organist’s fingers on the keys. This instrument, unimproved as it was, I have often heard with incredible delight, but especially in the grand and plaintive. This delight grew upon me every time I was present at its performance. At length I shut myself up for seven years, to study some additions and improvements, which I have at length accomplished, agreeable to my warmest wishes; and which I with all due submission now lay before you.
In the first place, then, it is universally known and acknowledged, that these animals, at the time of their amours, are the most musical creatures in nature; I would therefore recommend it to all and singular Cat-Organists, to have a most especial regard to the time of caterwauling, particularly if they have anything very august or affecting to exhibit.
Secondly, it is also very well known that the best voices are improved by castration; I therefore never have less than eight geldings in my treble clef. And here I cannot help informing you of an experiment I lately made on an Italian boar-cat, and an English one of the same gender; and I solemnly protest that, after the operation, my country animal had every whit as delicate, piercing, and comprehensive a tone, as the foreigner: and I make no sort of doubt that some of our harmonious Englishmen would shine with an equal lustre, if they had the same advantages as the Italians. This may be worth the consideration of people in power: for, if this experiment had been tried with success, how many thousand pounds would it have saved this nation!
Thirdly. Of the Forte and Piano. I must not omit to tell you, gentlemen, that my Cat-Organ resembles a double harpsichord; for, as that has two rows of keys, so mine has two layers of Cats, both of a lesser size, and whose tails are squeezed by a much less pressure; that is, by nothing but the bare extremity of the key. But the lower row, on which I play forte, or loudly, contains an harmonious society of banging grimalkins; and whose tails are severely pricked by brass pins, inserted at the end of the key for that purpose.
Fourthly, Of the Shake. There was one enormous defect in this instrument, before I took it in hand, and that was in the shake; the imperfection of which gave me great offence. But, as it is now managed, it has the most ravishing effect in the world. There are between all the keys little wires fixed almost imperceptibly; these go underneath till they reach each puss’s throat: at the extremity of these wires are placed horizontally wrens’ quills, about the length of a quarter of an inch. When the artist, therefore, has a mind to form his shake, he touches the wires, which soon send the quills in a tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle, up to the Cat’s t
hroat, and causes the most gurgling, warbling, shaking, quaking, trembling, murmuring sound, in the world.
Fifthly. Of the Staccato, and an infallible method of keeping the four-footed performers under proper regulations.
This most intolerable deficiency of the old Cat-Organ was as follows: some of the Cats were apt to continue their mew after the proper note was expressed, to the great confusion of the tune, and vexation of the organist. This I have entirely cured; and, I think, I can play the most perfect staccato in the world. I have underneath my instrument a treddle, like that of a spinning-wheel, which I work with my foot: this treddle actuates a certain number of forceps or pincers, which open and shut, at my pleasure, upon the noses and chins of all the Cats; and if any of them over-act their part, I tip St. Dunstan upon Mrs. Puss, and she is obliged of necessity to be silent.
Sixthly. Of the education of Cats for the Organ. My predecessors were egregiously out in this article, as well as many others; which, whatever it may appear to the incredulous or incurious, is a matter of importance. With regard to their diet, milk and flummery, fried mice and fish, have the best effect; I mean, for the trebles and tenors: as for the bases, I have fed them with good success on bullock’s liver, hog’s harslet’s, and sometimes with viands of a much less delicate nature. As for exercise, moderate mousing, and being well tugged and hauled about by the children, will very well suffice.
Mr. Collier, in his Essay on Musick, says – that he makes no doubt that there might be a warlike instrument contrived, of such an hideous sound, that instead of inspiring men with courage, it would strike the most undaunted with dismay. This may be effected by the above-mentioned instrument: for though the Cat-Organ, when accurately in tune, is incomparably melodious, yet it may be so managed, as to utter shrieks very little inferior to the cries of the infernals themselves. Happy that instrument, where terror and transport, ornament and utility, are so exquisitely blended! which, by its persuasive harmony, can at one time draw St. Cecilia from the spheres; and, at another, with proper alteration, would frighten away the devil himself in propriâ personâ!
