letting the cat out of the bag

thanks again, Wikimedia Commons: image in public domain

Just a quick post today to bring you this image from The Comic History of Rome, a British historical satire circa 1850 best known for this and its other illustrations. The illustration is called only "Fulvia," and since I'm a little rusty on the history of the Empire I had no idea what they meant. After a look around I'm pretty sure it's this Fulvia.

The illustrations are by the hand of John Leech (1817 - 1864) the great British caricaturist. Learn more about him here.

how a traveller to japan acquired a cat

In the nineteenth century a scholar named William Elliot Griffis went to live and work in the dynamic "New Japan" of the 1870s. In his cultural study of his host country, The Mikado's Empire (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1876), he tells this story of needing a hungry, hunting cat . . . and the cat he got instead.
* * *
There was a goodly number of rats in the old mansion, though they rarely disturbed me in the day-time. Their favorite place of playing what seemed to be foot-ball, or Congress, was over the ceilings, running along the beams immediately above the rafters. The builder of the mansion had foreseen the future, and, with wise benevolence, had cut square holes through certain portions of the fine lattice-work that might be spoiled by irregular gnawing, and thus earned the gratitude of all rodent generations. I determined to be rid of these ancient pests, and went out in search of a cat. . .

I preferred a lean feline specimen that would seek the rats from motives of hunger, but I could get none. The people loved their pets too well. But one day, on passing a hemp shop, I saw a good-natured old lady sitting on her mats, with a fine tortoiseshell tabby, and instantly determined to get that cat. Accosting her with the usual bow, I said, in my best Japanese, "Good-morning, old lady. Will you sell me that cat? I should like to buy it." . . .The old lady was pleased. Concerning the sale of her cat, however, she demurred. Her niko was a polite, well-bred animal. I was a foreigner from some outlandish place beyond the sea. Could she trust Puss with me? With head inclining forty-five degrees over her left shoulder, she considered. Looking up, she said, " I will not sell you the cat; but if you love it, you can have it." Of course, I loved it on the spot. Taking the name of the street, and number of the house, I sent Sahei for it.

Installed in my dwelling, it proved to be handsome and lazy, disturbing but little the ancient population, which, however, never troubled me except by their frisky noise. My repeated invitations to a banquet of arsenic were as often declined, with thanks and squeals; but on wrapping up a piece of seasoned meat in a small box in a tight bundle of paper, they partook luxuriantly and subsided. The old lady came occasionally to see her former pet. . .

The most remarkable fact concerning the majority of cats in Japan is that they have no tails, or, at least, a mere stump or tuft, like a rabbit's. They resemble the Manx cat in this respect. Whether wholly natural, or the long result of art, I could never satisfactorily determine. It always struck me as a great feline affliction, since the chief plaything of a kitten is its tail. To run around after their caudal stumps was a sorry game in the Japanese cats, compared with the lively revolutions of those boasting twelve inches of tail. An American gentleman once took one of these bob-tailed cats to California. The creature had evidently never made the acquaintance of the long-tailed brethren of its species, and the unwonted sight of their terminal appendages seemed to incite the feline nature of Japan to the highest pitch of jealousy and rage. It was continually biting, scratching, howling, and spitting at other cats, invariably seizing their tails in its teeth when practicable.
* * *
(Pages 449 - 451.)
That is odd about the "jealous" cat. I mean, Elizabeth bites Bac's tail all the time (she does - she eyeballs it with her mouth half open, waiting to strike), and she's got a perfectly long gorgeous one herself.

vintage photo time: happy thanksgiving!

thanks again ampersand

"Thanksgiving 1985," says the penned note on the back of this photo, and I'm here to tell you this is one of my all time favorites in the Vintage Photo Time department.

Cute happy little kid? Check.

Playful guy photobombing? Check.

Very well-stocked liquor cabinet? Check.

And . . . calm, well-tended cat enthroned dead center on the big cotton fringy pillow? Check.

Pretty much covers everything.

I'm grateful for all of you and your visits and comments. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone, and may you and your pets share enough to eat and be overstuffed with joy.

more of the life of tiber

I really enjoyed some of the other mentions the Countess Granville makes of her new dog Tiber, and thought you might too.
* * *
(Florence, April 1848)
. . .Rhodes (member of the household) detested Tiber, who howled and squeaked all the way, and whenever he did was violently shaken in his basket by the Colossus. When they reached Meurice's Hotel, no Tiber. Then came mental agitation of the severest sort. I thought I should have died of it, but Monsieur Meurice, a most excellent man, kindly soothed me by sending off a messenger to Beauvais, and back flowed the Tiber to his uneasy bed, having preferred the inn at (Beauvais), where he was found comfortably settled. . .

(Florence, May 1848)
. . .I took a most beautiful walk with G. Stewart at Spezia, where there is the berceau of the small rose festoons and draperies—do you remember it ?—and white round-headed acacias. We came close to the sea, and, to our utter astonishment and envy, in walked Tiber, perfectly happy, the greatest love, not liking the waves, but not deterred, patting and trying to put them down with his little satin paws.

(Arqui, 1843)
. . .But que voulez-vous? Tiber is so gentil, so full of natural grace and attraction, that he monopolises our affection, and will not learn anything. He delights in Arqui, leaps over the high grass like a kangaroo, and rushes into the Bormida Eiver twenty times a day, but he will not go out of his depth, and Georgy and I are going to buy a duck to teach him to swim. He is at this moment romping on the terrace with Granville.

-- from Letters of Harriet, Countess Granville, pps. 359-363 passim.

vintage postcard find from friends

courtesy of C. over at The Long and Short of It All

Hey, check out what Joey and Maggie and their person sent me. What an interesting old postcard! Notice how the dog seems to be standing on some flagstone patio out in a well-manicured property somewhere, and yet boom, there in the upper right: a handy bell at dog level to illustrate the point. In my house the sound of a certain cabinet being opened is the "bell" - I swear they can tell which door I'm opening - but all the cabinets sound alike to me.

the sartorial squirrel

Anything I say will just delay you from going over to LIFE.com to see a series of pix from the early 40's. Orphaned squirrel, well-meaning lady, tiny outfits = whoa.

A squirrel's guide to fashion.

a countess gets a dog for a present, 1843

What intricate, amusing, thought-provoking letters people used to write. I recall the first time I picked up the Paston Letters from Tudor-era England, and thinking how cool it would be if people still blessed anyone mentioned: "so and so, whom God assoil." (Assoil: to absolve, acquit, pardon.) But that's an aside.

The letter I want to share with you today is a thank you letter from a sister to a brother, regarding the gift of a pet dog. The brother is the Duke of Devonshire (not the one from The Duchess, but his son); the sister is Harriet, Countess Granville (dishy take on her here - it's fun). Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire was their mother.

The dog's name is Tiber, and Harriet perhaps loves him a bit, do you think?
* * *
To The Duke Of Devonshire.

Rome : April 15, 1843.

My dearest brother,—I sing Tiber. There never was such a darling. Beautiful I think, caressing, soft, helpless, and yet with a spice of the family temper, which prevents insipidity. Desperate volitions exerted with the utmost gentleness, a quiet little fury now and then. Oh ! there never was such a love of a dog. You know that, from our peculiarity of our never letting our little Blenheims out of our sight they have immense advantages. We do not attempt education; all our care goes to health, and the success is perfect. He is plumping up, his coat glossy, his paws beginning to flounce and furbelow, his cough gone. I took him to Gott, who said as Gibson had done, ' What a beautiful little dog, exactly like one his Grace the Duke of Devonshire had here !' 'He gave it me.' ' Do I see Lady Granville ?'

Brother, you will be jealous, you must expect it; he beats them all hollow—much more like Boneyi than Till. No accomplishments, it is true, but such quickness of comprehension, and when he walks with us, such ' let observation with extensive view.' And then his beauty where he is in action, when he sees a lizard on the wall, or a crow in the heavens.
* * *
-- from Letters of Harriet, Countess Granville, 1810-1845, The Hon. F. Leveson Gower, ed. (London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1894), pp. 358-59.

thoughts on "the cat in art," 1901

IF the cat has been exiled from ecclesiastical architecture, she has triumphed in Christian art. The early Italian masters admitted her over and over again into their sacred pictures, painting her lovingly, and with a delicate appreciation, not only of her grace, but of her domestic character, as though they sought to represent through her the human, earthly, simple life which they blended so sweetly with the mysterious and divine. In many pictures of the Annunciation we find a cat drowsing upon the Blessed Virgin's work-basket, or curled up on a corner of her azure robe. We see her repeatedly in paintings of the Last Supper, the Marriage Feast at Cana, and the birth of the Blessed Virgin; which final subject — so dear to the Italian heart — was seldom deemed complete without the introduction of a cat into the spacious bed-chamber of Saint Ann.

This is all the more pleasing because of Pussy's conspicuous absence from Pagan art. The dog leaps by the side of Artemis, or bays at the moon while Endymion slumbers. The kid drinks from the shepherd's bowl, the young bull is led garlanded to the sacrifice, the stag falls, pierced by the hunter's dart. But of the little fireside Sphinx we have no sign nor token. She and she alone finds no place among the marble animals of the Vatican. Those wise and watchful hounds, those lions and wolves and spotted leopards make no room for her. We see the hare couching upon her form, and the lobster lying on its rocky bed; but for the most beautiful of domestic animals we search, and search in vain.

Only in the Capitoline Museum may be found a spirited bas-relief, of a late period, which represents a woman trying to teach her cat to dance to the music of a lyre. The cat, a sullen beast with no love of music or dancing in its soul, has paused in the unwelcome task to snap viciously at a young duck, which, with obvious lack of caution, is thrusting forward its inquisitive head.

-- from Agnes Repplier, The Fireside Sphinx (Houghton, Mifflin and Co., 1901), pps. 104-5 (the beginning of Chapter VI, "The Cat in Art," which includes the illustration above. Text and image not in copyright.)

portrait of a little dog

public domain, thanks again wikimedia commons

"Portrait of a Maltese dog, oil on canvas, 40 x 31.5 cm. 19th c. Anonymous British painter." I have to admit I do not find this a completely well-executed work: though the brushwork and handling is competent, the background is an unpleasant rusty color and little is provided in the way of personalizing this fellow. Plus his nose is so shiny. Have you ever seen that shiny a nose on a dog?

I wonder if this isn't a work meant not so much for a fond owner, but for some kind of catalog, perhaps a breeder. Yet there's the funny salmon-colored pompom collar, which is unusual - well, maybe this was a private "snapshot." It was the pompoms that sold me on choosing him today, anyway.

cat tongues in the nyt

Alert and fabulous friend of the Museum Monica C. sent me a link to a New York Times article, published yesterday, in which it is explained "Cats Lap With Just Tip of the Tongue."

You see, unlike dogs - "The dog is thrusting its tongue into the water, forming a crude cup with it and hauling the liquid back into the muzzle," the article points out with some nicely loaded wording - cats do this supernifty trick in which they just touch the surface with the tip of their tongues and then whip that tongue right back up, bringing a column of drink back up with it, and then snapping their jaws shut just before the liquid falls back. The researchers borrowed a robot to test this, but it all started with a kitty called Cutta Cutta, whose photo is part of the story. There's a video too.

Go check it out and I dare you to try it with YOUR tongue (tip: you will fail).

vintage photo time!

another fab ampersand find

Sometimes all it takes is a pet fish. And that's all right.

* * *

SOMETHING TO LOVE.

Something to love, some tree or flow'r,
Something to nurse in my lonely bow'r,
Some dog to follow, where'er I roam,
Some bird to warble my welcome home,
Some tame gazelle, or some gentle dove:
Something to love. Oh, something to love !

Something to love. Oh, let me see!
Something that's filled with a love for me;
Beloved by none, it is sad to live,
And 'tis sad to die and leave none to grieve;
And fond and true let the lov'd one prove,
Something to love. Oh, something to love!

-- Thomas Haynes Bayly, 1844

weekend drama, starring briar (happy ending!)

This past weekend was, sorry to say, quite distressing for the most part. You see, Briar and the curatorial spouse took off to Condon, OR for a couple of days, and Briar had not been there one hour before he took off after some critter and was completely lost.

That was Friday. He reappeared Sunday afternoon. He had been lost in the canyons of the Oregon high desert for 48 hours. And when I say "reappeared" that's what I mean: after 2 days of hiking, driving, calling, and worrying, my husband and his friends drove back up to the ranch where they were staying, and there's a skinny, sore Briar in front of the house. He had found his way back to a house he had only seen once.

I don't ever want us to go through that again. There were coyotes in those canyons. Coyote traps. Not a lot of water. So this is what a setter looks like when he gets back home after that (you can't tell from the cellcam, but he's very very skinny):

And this is what he looks like after a much needed bath and two meals:

I think he's getting a doggie GPS system for Christmas.
Last but not least, I want to thank PetAmberAlert.com for their services. Briar found us, so we didn't actually have opportunity to see them do their whole thing, but I had signed up for their 200-person phone alert and was really pretty pleased at how they were willing to take on a dog lost in a rural, sparsely populated area.

*whew*
I hope none of you EVER go through a weekend like that one.

dog peace

image copyright serendipityartist/Annette Haines

and appears by kind permission of the artist

Her name is Shanti, or Peace. She is a stray dog wandering the streets of Pune, India. And to Annette Haines, who saw many like her on travels through that country, "These strays embody the often difficult, but beautiful world of India." Two other strays - Love and Light - round out Haines' trilogy of lives.

I was drawn to this image because to me the color and treatment so perfectly matched its subject: the dry ochre of Indian soil, the brown/tan fur of the dog packs who have run on their own for enough generations that they have reverted to the basic breed. Not only that, but the elegance and wistfulness of this creature called strongly to my sympathies. I think the understatement of this work - as indeed in all of Haines' work that I've seen so far - lends itself perfectly to paper, which though light and fragile can carry messages across time and space much more readily than the physicality of canvas or wood panel. Haines does write about her own attraction to paper in her work (all her work; she's also a librarian). You should read about that here at her blog.

She is also known as serendipityartist, and you can check out her Etsy shop of that name here.

the pet museum for peace

Thanks to Miss Peach I realized today was the Blog Blast for Peace! I found a Peace Globe here and now I too am joining the effort.

This morning as I was waking up Elizabeth was sitting on my hair purring, and I lay there so comfortable and pleased with the moment, and thought (this is before I knew about today) "I feel peaceful."

May peace spread across the world in actions large and small. And I wish it to you all, my friends.

artist: marjorie weiss

Image copywright M. Weiss and used by kind permission of the artist

A few years back during my professional petsitting days I once had the pleasure of housesitting a tiny West Highland White terrier - a Westie. He was only a few months old, not much bigger than both my fists together. I had to watch him carefully on the big back lawn, as his house was out a bit in the country and - must I say it? - hawks.

But he loved to run! He would zoom back and forth and backandforth, like a possessed cottonball. And when I ran across this card at the shop LALOO* in Nevada City CA, I snatched it up because it looked exactly as I always think of that tiny animal: the only important thing in all that landscape.

The art is by Marjorie Weiss, and her dog-themed artwork as a whole truly does tap into the creature as seen through the lens of your heart and your passing time. As she says in her website bio regarding her earlier "Black Dog" series,

The shadowy, silhouetted figures that appear in these paintings come together with the feeling of memory and reminiscence that is an intrinsic part of her work. Together, they create a sense of mystery and enigma that make these paintings captivating works of art.

In this "Westie" image and her recent others like it, the playful upending of scale and generalized, emptied surroundings result in the dog as all-important center. And let's face it: that's exactly where all our dogs are when we remember or think of them.

Do find a moment to enjoy Marjorie Weiss' website and work. I know you will.

* * *

*Full disclosure: my aunt owns that shop, and it's super cool and cute

and the winner of "dewey's nine lives" is!

The usual hat - just off my head (I got in late today)

Kinda dark, but you can see Elizabeth doing her thing

and of our three contestants

(why do I hear the "Dating Game" theme in my head?)

the winner is. . .

oh my, it's our brand new friend

Danielle

Wow!

Dearest Sweet Praline and Katnip Lounge, I wish I had 2 more copies to give away. But this has been fun and there's always another giveaway!

I wonder what I'll get to give for Christmas.

for all saints' day, a lovely pet epitaph

Here lies DASH, the Favourite Spaniel of Queen Victoria
By whose command this Memorial was erected.
He died on the 20 December, 1840 in his 9th year.
His attachment was without selfishness,
His playfulness without malice,
His fidelity without deceit.
READER, if you would live beloved and die regretted, profit by the example of DASH.

Queen Victoria, written on the grave marker of her spaniel Dash. After her coronation, a long arduous day of ceremony, the young Victoria came home and ran upstairs to give Dash his bath.