by L A Vocelle
Jack Kerouac (1922-1969) author of On the Road (1957) wrote about the death of one of his favorite cats, Tyke, in his memoir Big Sur (1962). Tyke was Kerouac’s calico Persian whose death he strangely equated with his little brother Gerard’s. Jack writes that it was Gerard “who’d taught me to love cats when I was 3 and 4 and we used to lie on the floor on our bellies and watch them lap up milk.” Knowing how important the cat was to Jack, his mother made sure that Tyke had a proper burial, “under the Honeysuckle vines, at the corner of the fence”. She told Jack that the black birds in the garden must have realized what was going on. “There was lots and lots of ‘em flying over my head and chirping, and settling on the fence, for a whole hour after Tyke was laid to rest — that’s something I'll never forget — I wish I had a camera at the time but God and Me knows it and saw it,” she told Kerouac. (Kerouac, 1992)
“When we’re alone he says, ‘Your mother wrote and said your cat is dead.’ Ordinarily the death of a cat means little to most men, a lot to fewer men, but to me, and that cat, it was exactly and no lie and sincerely like the death of my little brother—I loved Tyke with all my heart, he was my baby who as a kitten just slept in the palm of my hand and with his little head hanging down, or just purring for hours, just as long as I held him that way, walking or sitting—He was like a floppy fur wrap around my wrist, I just twist him around my wrist or drape him and he just purred and purred and even when he got big I still held him that way, I could even hold that big cat in both hands with my arms outstretched right over my head and he’d just purr, he had complete confidence in me—and when I’d left New York to come to my retreat in the woods I’d carefully kissed him and instructed him to wait for me ‘Attends pour mue kitigingoo’—But my mother said in the letter he had died the NIGHT AFTER I HAD LEFT” (Kerouac, 1992 p. 11).
“Holding up my
Purring cat to the moon
I sighed”
(Kerouac, American Haiku, 1959).
The Japanese author Haruki Murakami, known for liking and having cats has included them in many of his works. In The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle the story revolves around Toru Okada’s missing cat that he loves more than any of the women with whom he has encounters. The cat also serves as an omen for the eventual disappearance of his wife. In Kafka on the Shore, the protagonist, Kafka Tamura, cannot pass a cat without petting it. Nakata, is an old man who, after having lost the ability to read, gains the ability to converse with cats. Because he can talk with the cats, he becomes a finder of lost cats. Nakata finds a Siamese cat named Mimi particularly impressive, as she can quote from Puccini operas and hold conversations.
Murakami has also written several essays. One of these, On the Death of My Cat, discusses the death of one of his many cats.
“On the Death of My Cat
My cat died the other day. It was an Abyssinian I got from Ryu Murakami and her name was Kirin. Because she was Ryu Murakami's cat, the name "Kirin" comes from the mythical Chinese unicorn- no relation to the beer.
She was four years old, which in human years would have put her in her late twenties, maybe 30, so it was an early death. She was prone to getting kidney stones in her urinary tract, had had surgery already, her meal regimen comprised solely of diet cat food (which is something that exists in this wide world), but in the end, it was complications in her urinary tract that took her life. We had her cremated, put her tiny bones in an urn, and placed her in our household shrine. The house I live in now is an old Japanese style house, so it's very convenient to have a household shrine at times like these. It seems to me that it would be hard to find a place to put your cat's bones in a brand new two bedroom apartment. It just doesn't seem right to put it on top of the refrigerator, you know?
Besides Kirin I also have an eleven year old female Siamese cat named Muse. The name comes from a character from the famous shoujou manga Glass Castle. Before that I had two male cats named Butch and Sundance, the classic duo from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. When you have a lot of cats it gets annoying coming up with name after name after name, so I do some extremely easy naming. I've had a mackerel cat named Mackerel, and a calico cat named Calico. When I had a Scottish fold I named him "Scotty". I'm sure you can derive from this pattern that I've also had a black cat named "Black" before too.
If we organize the fates of the various cats that have come and gone in the fifteen years I've lived in this house, we get:
A) Dead cats: 1) Kirin 2) Butch 3) Sundance 4) Mackerel 5) Scotty
B) Cats I've given away: 1) Calico 2) Peter
C) Cats who suddenly disappeared: 1) Black 2) Tobimaru
D) Cats I still have left: 1) Muse
Thinking about it, there's only been a two month period in these last fifteen years when there wasn't a single cat in my house.
This is kind of an obvious statement, but cats have lots of different personalities, and their behavioral patterns, as well as the way they think, differ from cat to cat. The Siamese I have now is that kind of unusual cat that can't give birth unless I hold her hand. When the labor pains start up, this cat immediately jumps up from my lap onto the floor and sets herself down heavily, grunting like an old lady, onto a floor cushion. I take both of her hands tightly, and out comes one kitten after another. It's pretty fun, watching this cat give birth.
For whatever reason, Kirin loved the rustling noise that plastic wrap makes when she rolled around in it, and if someone crumpled up an empty cigarette box, she'd burst out of nowhere to pull it out of the garbage and play with it by herself for fifteen minutes or so. As to what circumstances led to this one cat's habits, vices, and tastes to be formed is a total mystery to me. This cat - this strange, energetic, solidly built, vigorous appetite-having cat - is the complete opposite of Ryu Murakami. She was a real free spirit, and was popular with anyone who came over to my house. When her urinary tract got worse she became less energetic, but even until the day before her death, it didn't seem like she was going to die like she did. I brought her to the nearby vet, who let out all the blocked-up urine and gave her medicine to dissolve the kidney stones, but as the night came to an end, she crouched down onto the kitchen floor, her eyes opened wide, and grew cold. Cats are creatures that always die rather easily. Her face was too pretty in death–you might've thought that if you placed her out in the sun, she would thaw out and come back to life.
In the afternoon pet specialists from a burial service company came in a minivan to pick her up. They were dressed just like the people in the movie The Funeral, and they even said their condolences like they were supposed to, but, you can just think of their remarks as a suitably simplified version of the condolences you would say for humans. Then it became a matter of money. The course from cremation to urn, along with the urn itself, came to 23000 yen. In the trunk of the van we could also see the figure of a German shepherd in a plastic storage bin. Maybe Kirin's going to be cremated along with that German shepherd.
After Kirin was carried off in that minivan, my house quickly started to feel empty, and neither me, nor my wife, nor Muse could settle down. Family – even if that includes cats too – is a living thing that has a certain balance, and when one corner of it falls apart, it doesn't take long before everything subtly breaks down. Unable to go about my work at home, I thought I'd go hang out in Yokohama, so I walked to the train station in a soft, drizzling rain. But even that somehow didn't seem worth the trouble, and halfway there I turned back and went home” (Murakami, 1985).
In another essay, Murakami Harukido wa ikanishite kitaeraretaka, Murakami tells the story of an aged cat that he once owned. In a piece entitled Choju Neko no Himitsu he tells the story of how he asked an executive at Kodansha Ltd., a publishing company, to take care of his cat while he was away. In return for the favor, Murakami promises to write a novel for the company which turned out to be Norwegian Wood, a bestseller. Murakami writes that when he was writing his first novel Hear the Wind Sing, “I still remember well the days when I was writing my first novel
at night, with the cat on my lap and sipping beer. The cat apparently didn’t like me writing a novel and would often play havoc with my manuscript on the desk.”
Town of Cats, recently published in the New Yorker, is a tale included in Murakami’s novel 1Q84, which is about a man who becomes lost in a town where only cats reside. Murakami said the following about the story, “Town of Cats is a story that I made up. I think I probably read something like it a long time ago, but I don’t have a very precise recollection of whatever it was that I read. In any case, this episode performs a symbolic function in the novel in many different senses—the way a person wanders into a world from which he can never escape, the question of who it is that fills up the empty spaces, the inevitability with which night follows day. Perhaps each of us has his or her own ‘town of cats’ somewhere deep inside—or so I feel” (Treisman, 2011).
Murakami has admitted to being influenced by Natsume Soseki who wrote I am a Cat, an early 20th century novel, in which the narrator is a domestic house cat.
Not all authors, however, adored the cat. Several books were published in the 80’s and 90’s by cat, and essentially woman haters. 101 Uses for a Dead Cat (1981) written by Simon Bond illustrates this hostility by giving an example of a dead cat as a pencil sharpener. The pencil is inserted into its anus, a symbolic rape. In yet another book, How to Kill your Girlfriend’s Cat, Dr. Robert Daphne writes out of his own frustration at his girlfriend’s fondness for her cat. He instructs those in a similar position on how killing the cat will free a girlfriend so that she can give her individual attention to a boyfriend or husband. One such book was not enough, and he published yet another, How to Kill your Girlfriend’s Cat Again (1990) which describes 40 more ways to kill a cat. Both his books appeal to misogynists and cat haters simply because women and cats cannot be controlled, are independent and untrainable.
Joyce Carole Oates, herself a cat lover, paints a picture of this controlling, cat jealous, male mentality in The White Cat. An aging Julius Muir gives his younger wife a cat, Miranda. The cat, sensing hostility in Julius, refuses to give him any attention or affection in the way only a cat can. Julius is furious at what he sees as the cat’s ingratitude, since he bought her and provides for her. Miranda becomes a metaphor for Julius’ wife.
CATS AND POLITICIANS
From presidents to prime ministers, to adventurers, the cat served as a wise mascot. Beginning with President Theodore Roosevelt (1858-1919) who had two cats: Tom Quartz and Slippers, almost every 20th century president has had a cat or cats to accompany him and his family in the White House.
Cats have even been long standing residents of 10 Downing Street, brought to the address by Prime Ministers and other staff as mousers or just pets. However, perhaps the most famous cat lover and resident of 10 Downing Street was Sir Winston Churchill, who served as Britain’s Prime Minister from 1940-1945 and 1951-1955. Churchill formed attachments to several cats throughout his lifetime, whom he kept by his side at both his official and private residences. Sir John Colville wrote about a meeting he had with Churchill.
Churchill kept his wife informed of the goings on of the cats while she was on a cruise in the South Pacific. In a letter dated March 2nd 1935 he writes, “The cat (Tango) treats me well very graciously and always wishes to sleep on my bed (which I resent). When I dine alone, and only then, she (Tango was actually a male) awaits me on the table” (Soames, 1999).
During a particularly bad time in the war, on June 3rd, 1941, Sir John Colville noted what transpired during the lunch which he had with Churchill that day.
“I had lunch with the P.M. and the Yellow Cat, which sat in a chair on his right-hand side and attracted most of his attention. He was meditating deeply on the Middle East, where he is intent on reorganizing the rearward services, and on Lord Beaverbrook who is proving particularly troublesome…While he brooded on these matters, he kept up a running conversation with the cat, cleaning its eyes with his napkin, offering it mutton and expressing regret that it could not have cream in war-time” (Coleville, 1986).
Grace Hamblin, who was Churchill’s secretary as well as his wife’s from 1932-1965, commented on Churchill’s love of animals, in particular cats, at the 1987 International Churchill conference.
“He loved cats. So do I and he knew it. He always had a cat, if not two. I must tell you one lovely cat story. It was way, way back in the Thirties. He came to his door one morning with some papers in his hand and a cat was sitting in the passage: “Good morning, Cat.” But the cat didn’t answer. It was one of those horrible snooty things. So he said again, “Good morning, Cat.” The cat made no effort to be near him. He slashed at it with his papers and the cat ran from the house. Cat didn’t return the next day or the next or the next. Finally he said, “Do you think it’s because I hit him?” Of course I said, “Yes, definitely.”
That evening I was whiling away my time while the family had dinner downstairs, when Sarah came up and said, ‘Hambone, I have a message for you from Papa. He said if you like you may go home, and if you wish before you go, you may put a card in the window to say that if Cat cares to come home, all is forgiven.’ Cat did come home several days later with a wire round his neck. Given cream and the best salmon and so on, he did recover, I’m glad to say” (Hamblin, 1989).
Two resident cats of Chartwell were Mickey, a large tabby, and the orange tabby Tango. William Manchester, Churchill’s biographer, recalled an amusing incident while Churchill was speaking on the phone with the Lord Chancellor. His cat Mickey started to play with the telephone cord and Churchill shouted, “Get off the line, you fool!” Quickly afterwards he realized the misinterpretation and said to the Lord Chancellor, “Not You!” Manchester wrote, “He offered the cat his apologies, which he never extends to human beings, cajoling the pet, cooing, ‘Don’t you love me anymore?’ and proudly telling his valet at breakfast next day, ‘My Mickey came to see me this morning. All is forgiven”’(Manchester, 1988).
Even though quite a bit has been written about Churchill’s cat Tango, a grey cat named Nelson was the most well-known during the war years. Churchill commented about Nelson stating, “Nelson is the bravest cat I ever knew. I once saw him chase a huge dog out of the Admiralty. I decided to adopt him and name him after our great Admiral…” While speaking, Churchill sneaked pieces of salmon to Nelson under the table (Reynolds, 1964). When Churchill had been elected prime minister, and it was inevitable that he would move to 10 Downing Street, the press commented that “Nelson will follow his master shortly to Downing Street and make a problem of protocol. How, it is asked will the Munich cat (a mouser that was already living at the residence brought in by Neville Chamberlain’s administration) react to Nelson? Will he follow Chamberlain next door to his new home at No. 11 leaving the field at No. 10 to Nelson? Or will he refuse to abdicate and call for a show-down in His Majesty’s court of justice?” (Downing St. Cats, 1940, p. 6). Soon afterwards, Nelson chased Munich Mouser out of the residence.
Another cat who took up residence at No. 10 was another grey cat, Smoky. In January 1943, while Churchill was traveling to meet President Roosevelt in Casablanca, Mrs. Churchill wrote, “The “Annexe” & No 10 are dead and empty without you—Smoky wanders about disconsolate—I invite him into my room & he relieves his feelings by clawing my brocade bed-cover and when gently rebuked, biting my toe through it” (Soames, 1999, p. 471).
While meeting with President Roosevelt in August 1941 aboard the HMS Prince of Wales (figure 9.13), the ship’s cat Blackie came up to Churchill who bent down and patted his head. The moment was caught in a photograph which was widely published. Shockingly though, the Prime Minister’s behavior toward the cat was criticized by the Cats’ Protective League, which stated, “He should have conformed to the etiquette demanded by the occasion, offering his hand and then awaiting a sign of approval before taking liberties” (Churchill Should Pet Cat, 1941). The crew of the ship renamed Blackie, Churchill in honor of the meeting.
Throughout the
years Churchill enjoyed the company of many cats and kittens. His last cat was given to him for his 88th birthday in 1964 by Sir John Colville. Churchill named the ginger cat with white chest and paws Jock after Sir John Colville. Later he even commissioned a painting be done of Jock. When Churchill died at age 90 with Jock at his bedside, he made sure that provision was made to keep the beloved cat on at Chartwell, which became a National Trust. He also requested that there always be a cat named Jock at Chartwell. The original Jock died in 1975 at age 13 and was replaced by a new ginger cat called Jock II. The tradition lives on today, and Jock VI now inhabits Chartwell.
Figure 9.13. Blackie the cat meets Churchill aboard the HMS Prince of Wales, 1941, Imperial War Museums
ADVENTUROUS CATS
Adventurous cats traveled the world on sometimes dangerous expeditions. An unlucky black tomcat named Nigger (figure 9.14) accompanied Robert Scott’s (1868-1912) team on the Terre Nova Expedition (1910-1912) to the South Pole, but was swept overboard and lost. The kitten had boarded the ill-fated ship in 1910 while docked in London. The loss of their good luck charm, turned out to be a bad omen, as their expedition was doomed with all of Scott’s party eventually suffering a lonely death in the Antarctic.
As WWI was just beginning, another adventurous cat, Mrs. Chippy, accompanied Sir Ernest Shackleton’s Antarctic voyage of 1914-1915. Mrs. Chippy, a grey tabby tomcat, acquired his name because he constantly followed the ship’s carpenter and master shipwright Henry (Harry) McNeish around. “Chippy” is a British nickname for a carpenter, and even though the cat was male, he was called Mrs. because of his attachment to McNeish. Even so, the only photograph of Mrs. Chippy is one with him perched on the shoulder of the stowaway Blackborow, who also took a liking to the cat (figure 9.15).
