here's a catfood flavor i actually might not ever have to spend a fortune upon

For my cats' picky tastebuds (and in elderly Bac's case, tricky tummy), I can lovingly select and pay mucho currency for duck, or pure chicken, or lamb, maybe even kangaroo (that last might just be in the dog food). And I do. And they are paragons of beauty and health, much more so than their person, I might add. But think about it:

How come and why for no mouse flavor food?

Luckily for me and you, somebody beat me to this question over at The Straight Dope a while ago. The answer is pretty plausible. With a dash of icky.

open letters

There's nothing quite like getting it off your chest, whatever "it" is and despite whether "they" are listening to you. Such seems to be the operating principle behind the "Open Letters" at McSweeney's Internet Tendency, in which people write in with whatever small life absurdity they'd like to acknowledge and move past. They're vastly entertaining in that grownup way (because, let's face it, other people's issues just are). And many of them seem to be exorcising the ghost of whatever idea they ever had that one can truly reason with pets.

For example, somewhere there is an Amazon parrot that has been freeloading for over 15 years without offering much in the way of return. And a cat who has made a hobby of pushing breakables off the sink when everyone else in the house is sleeping. And a pair of mean dogs who shouldn't bank on the fact that they belong to somebody's sibling. And the turtle letter - well, I got a flashback to the first time I read Oscar Wilde's De Profundis.

i'd be afraid to touch that dress too

usual thanks wikimedia commons

What a lovely young woman, and such a dress - simple lines in the finest shining fabric. I'm thinking silk. No wonder her dog is having all kinds of second thoughts about jumping up on her. This is Grand Duchess Alexandra Nikolaevna of Russia (1825 – 1844) portrayed in 1840 by Christina Robertson, a Scottish painter. Though Robertson is now little known, in her time she was successful by any artist's yardstick, which as you'd guess was particularly challenging for a woman, wife and mother in the early 19th century. (A biography can be found here.) So much of her success was found among the Russian royal family that she died and was buried there, despite setbacks late in her career.

As you might guess, the primary drive behind a royal portrait is to be idealized; that warts-and-all thing won't fly unless you're Goya and know you can get away with it. Alexandra was about 15 here and was by all accounts actually this beautiful, as well as animated. Imagine Christina Robertson of Fife, Scotland at age fortysomething recording such a paragon; she might have felt a lot like that lapdog, unable to touch her.

I wish I could tell you this pretty, talented girl had lived happily ever after - well, she did, for about four years. She died young along with her newborn child, within a year of her marriage, leaving many hearts shattered. Oh dear, I wish I didn't see that ending so often.

happy thanksgiving!

Here at The Pet Museum, we are grateful for all our patrons and friends.

Have a safe and happy holiday, or else I'll mail Elizabeth to you.

mascots (thanks, good cats!)

Thanks to a tip from A Few Good Cats, I can send you to a great Shorpy find from around 1910: Orange, Virginia's Woodberry School baseball team, plus their mascot pups! Can you spot them? The funny thing is, the Woodberry School's mascot is now the tiger.

Of course I started thinking about other dog mascots, but what I actually found first (such is the wonder of the internet) was William Windsor of the 1st Battalion of the Royal Welsh (infantry, British Army). Although that's not strictly fair, as he wasn't a mascot but an actual ranking Lance Corporal of the regiment when he retired this year at the ripe age of about 9. Which isn't bad for a goat. Want to see The Mail Online's super-cool pictorial essay of his retirement procession? Yes you do. And check out that silver plaque of appreciation on his headdress. Just a little something from HM The Queen.

jorge luis borges, "to a cat"

Mirrors are not more silent
nor the creeping dawn more secretive;
in the moonlight, you are that panther
we catch sight of from afar. . .

I often think Borges loved cats for their sheer surrealist otherness - beautiful, with a perfect law known only to themselves.

. . . You have accepted,
since that long forgotten past,
the love of the distrustful hand. . .

Think those bits are lyrical? I wish I could read the original Spanish, in which the first four lines run:

No son más silenciosos los espejos
ni más furtiva el alba aventurera;
eres, bajo la luna,
esa pantera que nos es dado divisar de lejos. . .

Entire poem here. Original Spanish and another quite nice turn at translation here. The poem was first published in El oro de los tigres (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1972) and in a 1977 translation by Alastair Reid in The Gold of the Tigers.

what robot the dog found

Most everybody knows about the fabulous Lascaux caves, near Montignac in SW France. That's where a treasurehouse of Paleolithic cave art was found: the fat-bellied tawny horses, the great black bulls, stags, the occasional feline creature.

Most people also know the unusual story of how this wonder came to light in 1940 when four boys and a dog named Robot went on a forest adventure looking for a supposed tunnel, and Robot found a certain intriguing hole.

But has anyone seen a photo of Robot? You can on this page. He still looks a bit overwhelmed by it all, but you can easily understand that when you go to this virtual Lascaux. (And you should, since you can't go to the real one any more.) Wow.

vintage photo time

Another Ampersand bulk-bin find! I have no note on the back, no idea when or where. All I have is a smiling dog next to somebody's hedge.

the duke of mantua's best friend

Or one of them, anyway; the Duke, Federico II Gonzaga, loved dogs and owned over a hundred of them when Titian painted this portrait around 1525. This page makes the claim that this silky-looking fellow is a Havanese. Since the Havanese is said to be Cuba's only native breed, and Spain controlled Cuba at this time and had for a generation, I should think this Italian duke could have gotten a pup for a very special gift. Why not - giraffes and elephants have been gifts among the mighty as well, though I bet they don't cuddle as winsomely as Federico's friend.

This work is oil on canvas, and I am sure it's much more splendid in person than in reproduction (thanks anyway Wikipedia). You may see it if you are at the Prado in Madrid.

what's in a cat's name? or, the thatcher story

Last Friday the 13th of November, Toronto, Canada, at a formal dinner for a couple thousand Conservatives: the terrible news spreads, murmured in low voices.

Thatcher has died. Ceased to be. Joined the choir invisible. This is an ex-Thatcher.

Well, yes. It's awful. But no. Not that Thatcher. The Iron Lady was alive and kicking, or at least she was last weekend when somebody finally thought to call Buckingham Palace and check. But the Canadian transport minister's cat, also named Thatcher? Not so much.

The story from Guardian.co.uk here. And my sincere condolences to little gray Thatcher's family.

mischief again!

public domain

But this is not the least of what goes around and comes around for pup Floppy and Tinker, a kitten full of bad ideas. Their misadventures were recorded for our delight by Enid Blyton and photographer Paul Kay in Mischief Again! (New York: Roy Publishers, 1954). And if you think this photo is adorable, you should see the whole book. You can if you go to its Internet Archive record (look to the left for "View the book," and click "Read Online").

I'd be the first to admit I am not up on the fashions in children's books these days, but I seem to recall 40 years ago when I was small that kids still had and read photo-essay sorts of books like this, and they haven't now for decades. Remember Dare Wright's "Lonely Doll" series and her other books? Anybody? In recent years someone told me they thought those books were cute, but a little abandoned and creepy. I never thought that. They made perfect sense to me.

norman douglas on the cats of southern italy, 1915

We are in the south. One sees it in sundry small ways–in the behaviour of the cats, for instance. . . .
The Tarentines, they say, imported the cat into Europe. If those of south Italy still resemble their old Nubian ancestors, the beast would assuredly not have been worth the trouble of acclimatizing. On entering these regions, one of the first things that strikes me is the difference between the appearance of cats and dogs hereabouts, and in England or any northern country; and the difference in their temperaments. Our dogs are alert in their movements and of wideawake features; here they are drowsy and degraded mongrels, with expressionless eyes. Our cats are sleek and slumberous; here they prowl about haggard, shifty and careworn, their fur in patches and their ears a-tremble from nervous anxiety. That domestic animals such as these should be fed at home does not commend itself to the common people; they must forage for their food abroad. Dogs eat offal, while the others hunt for lizards in the fields. A lizard diet is supposed to reduce their weight (it would certainly reduce mine); but I suspect that southern cats are emaciated not only from this cause, but from systematic starvation. Many a kitten is born that never tastes a drop of cow’s milk from the cradle to the grave, and little enough of its own mother’s.

- Norman Douglas, Old Calabria (1915), chapter XVI. Reposing at Castrovillari, presented by Authorama.com Public Domain Books

Norman Douglas (1868 - 1952) was a British writer who wrote, among other things, well-crafted and insightful books of his travels.

cat quotes i've never read before

Because I stumbled upon goodreads.com and their exhaustive reader-voted quotes forum today, I am able (and very pleased) to bring you some cat quotes out of the ordinary. Try these on for size. . .


"They say the test of literary power is whether a man can write an inscription. I say, 'Can he name a kitten?'" - Samuel Butler (1835 - 1902)

"A kitten is infinitely more amusing than half the people one is obliged to live with in the world." — Lady Morgan (Sydney Owenson) (1776 - 1859)

"I meant," said Ipslore bitterly, "what is there in this world that truly makes living worthwhile?" Death thought about it.
"Cats," he said eventually. "Cats are nice." - Terry Pratchett (1948 - , and an OBE to boot!) from Sourcery in the Discworld series. I think this is my new favorite quote.

"The hardest thing of all is to find a black cat in a dark room, especially if there is no cat." - Confucius

"The only true animal is a cat, and the only true cat is a gray cat." - L. M. Montgomery (1874 - 1942, of Anne of Green Gables)

"What sort of philosophers are we, who know absolutely nothing of the origin and destiny of cats?" - Henry David Thoreau

"Let us be honest: most of us rather like our cats to have a streak of wickedness. I should not feel quite easy in the company of any cat that walked around the house with a saintly expression. " - Beverley Nichols (1898-1983), who also wrote Beverley Nichols' Cats A.B.C. and Beverley Nichols' Cats X.Y.Z.

vintage photo time

Another find from Ampersand's photo bin: the print in the right margin says "May 71." Somebody's little gray poodle hopping round in the snow, and someone behind the lens thinking that was the cutest thing and oh look at the fun pup was having and we are happy.

a little cat mix

Today I have a few cat things from all over, starting with this perfect fall image of a black cat - a kuroki neko - in a tree, painted by Japanese artist Hishida Shunso in 1910. (Thanks, Wikimedia Commons.) Hishida died just shy of his 37th birthday, and had labored under kidney and retinal disease in his last years. So this golden painting, an "Important Cultural Property" in his native Japan, was done by a young man who knew he might well go blind soon. Here's a bit about his accomplishments.

Speaking of doing what you want despite everything, friend N. McGuire passed on this true story from another friend about an old cat who had her own plans for a good exit:

A co-worker of mine had a nineteen year old black and white cat named "Twisted Sister". She hadn't been doing well recently and her owner was about ready to take her to the vet for the inevitable and was pretty distraught even though Twisted Sister had lived a long, happy, rock and roll life. But Twisted had her own ideas on how it was going to end - during the night she attempted her last supper...and was found face down and smiling in her food dish the next morning. She did it her way.

Excellent.

And last but not least, I see this has gone all over the place but I hadn't seen it till this morning. Since I missed Friday's BlogBlast for Peace, it can't hurt to stick in a Sunday morning reminder of love and togetherness:

orange kitten, little fawn, Louis Armstrong, friendship.

more on the rabbit in the moon

In the last post I'd mentioned in passing the Indian tale of Lord Indra rewarding the sacrifice of a rabbit, which I'd never heard before and found touching. Looking for details, I turned up some more rabbit - moon links in an old book review:

The Hindus called the moon casin, or Sasanka, " Marked with the Hare," from the story of Sakya-muni (Buddha). This holy man in an early stage of his existence was a hare, and, when in company with an ape and a fox, was applied to by the god Indra, disguised as a beggar, who, wishing to test their hospitality, asked for food. All went in search for it, the hare alone returning unsuccessful; but that he might not fall short in duty to his guest, he had a fire built and cast himself into it for the latter's supper. In return Indra rewarded him by a place in the moon, where we now see him. Other Sanskrit and Cingalese tales mention the palace of the king of the hares on the face of the moon; the Aztecs saw there the rabbit thrown by one of their gods; and the Japanese, the Jeweled Hare pounding omochi, their rice dough, in a mortar. Even the Khoikhoin, the Hottentots of South Africa, and the Bantus associated the hare and moon in their worship, and connected them in story, asserting that the hare, ill treated by the moon, scratched her face, and we still see the scratches. Eskimos think the moon a girl fleeing from her brother, the sun, because he had disfigured her face by ashes thrown at her; but in Greenland the sex of these luminaries is interchanged, and the moon pursues his sister, the sun, who daubs her sooty hands over his face. The Khasias of the Himalayas say that every month the moon falls in love with his mother-in-law, who very properly repulses his affection by throwing ashes at him.

--from Star Names and Their Meanings by Richard Hinckley Allen (New York: G. E. Stechert, 1899), reviewed in The Critic, vol. XXXIV no. 859, January 1899, p. 574.

late breaking treat! cute little bunny cakes!

Actually cute little bunny manju, a Japanese treat made of flour wrapped round sweet bean filling. I stumbled upon these just as I was about to head out for the night, but thanks to an excellent blog named The Food Librarian, you get to dream whether to eat these or make squee-ing sounds of joy. Bunny cakes here! Mmmmm.

-- Addendum: Rabbits and the moon go back to a legend from India telling of a bunny that hopped into a fire so starving people could eat, and was transported to the moon as a reward; as the story traveled over time and place, the Japanese version had the bunny pounding rice flour, or mochi. You might enjoy this page for a further look. Be sure and find the children's song over to the right.

the dainty dog: from 1902

A DAINTY dog had chanced to note
The breakfast of a greedy goat,—
Half-rotten grass, a shocking pile.
" Fie!" said the dog; " what wretched style!
Good taste demands, you clownish beast,
A dish to eat from, at the least.
And as for food, that garbage foul
Would even make a camel scowl,
Would make a very buzzard groan,
Would " Here the goat laid bare a bone,
Which when our dainty dog had spied,
"Your pardon, friend!" the critic cried;
"I'm quite near-sighted, neighbor mine.
I see your meal is fair and fine.
Invite me, pray, with you to dine!"

-- from Amos R. Wells (illustrated by L.J. Bridgman), Rollicking Rhymes for Youngsters (New York: Fleming H. Revell Company, 1902) .

There's one thing wrong with this poem -- I haven't met the dog yet that wouldn't wholeheartedly roll in garbage instead of standing around criticizing it.