Brindis&Paolo

The Warm Sun

by Paolo

DRAFT SUBMISSION [comments by Brindis]

Oh the sun is coming out almost every day and it's not as cold as it was before [say "Spring has come" --B.] I lay in the little patch of sun that came through the door and shone on the floor and felt so happy, so very pleased with my life, that I fell asleep and had a dream. In the dream I was chasing a ball. It rolled under a chair and came out of the other side, then hit a wall and changed direction. [Are my lessons sinking in after all --B]. Suddenly it turned into a giant mouse and I ran away, then I woke up. And there was that scary purple toy of my friend the little girl right in front of me and she gave me a hug and a kiss and told me it was all right. By now, with all that running I was feeling very hungry [I thought it was a dream --B.] and went to eat some food. There are always two plates out for some reason [Who'd want to share with you? --B] and sometimes the big people get cross when I eat from one of them, but I don't quite understand why. Everyone is cross with me except the little girl - Brindis is cross when I play games with his tail, but it is such a great whopper [you're writing for the Feline Observer, not News of the Wild!! --B.] that I can't resist. Oh well, here comes the sun again so I'm off to relax a bit more [Has writing this tired you out? --B.]

The Mirage

by Brindis

In this article I had every intention of discussing the future of humanity, but I have been overwhelmed by letters pointing out that this would be quite a digression from the important issues of our day. Much as I have a tremendous affection for humans, it is an eccentricity that few of my readers appear to share. Instead, I wish to discuss something more directly pertinent to cats.

I have been reflecting on the ephemerality of recent times and wondering whether many of us have been caught up in the vanity of our epoch, unable to see beyond the horizon, like those mariner-cats in ancient times who believed that they would fall off the edge of the world if their ship ventured beyond the visible. Most of us (not all of course, mentioning no names) now understand the spherical nature of the planet and a few, like the wise Ota Scott (Letters, Feline Observer, 12.3.03) have continued to deepen our knowledge of the firmament. But many more have been trapped by the immediate, preferring to believe in vulgar hype about The Whiskas Cat, who cannot even spell, and even listening to people. Why, the other day I heard about a cat who could sit whenever a human commanded. How utterly pathetic!

I speak as one whose life has spanned more than two decades and is able to remember a different era. As an observer, rather than a participant, in this racing, spinning world, I believe it is my duty to lend a paw to younger cats who may feel they have lost their way (if indeed they ever had a way to lose, not thinking of anyone in particular, Paolo). Don't misunderstand me, I'm not being nostalgic. But I do feel that the spirit of the times changed dramatically about half way through my life, and other cats might wish to ponder the phenomenon.

I recently made the acquaintance of a young female cat called Deneuve, who was utterly charming, but whose sole interests in life appeared to be preening herself and having kittens, to the extent that she even made advances towards the hapless Paolo! Fortunately for the whole of felinity, he has been operated upon (although I doubt he would have known how to proceed in any case). Compare this with a young lady I once knew quite intimately, about 10 years ago. She was brave enough to stand up to a large and rather vulgar Tom, and I was reduced to the role of bystander, watching her fight it out in the garden through a reinforced glass door. There was a principle at stake (I forget what it was) and she was hardly bothered that the rogue had pulled her fur out.

Shortly after this episode, a spirit of delusion seemed to spread across the world and many cats began to lose interest in the larger picture. I observe Paolo now, who has a talent for football. Yet if a ball goes under a chair, he cannot even grasp the fact that it will appear on the other side! I tried to show him this, by making my body a bridge between two chairs, but he was by then thinking only about his next meal, and the lesson went unheeded. In my last article I discussed how we cats appear to have lost many of our natural instincts. I fear that we may be losing our natural intelligence too.

Yet I wonder how far this can go on. Already I detect signs of a renaissance in cat thought. This obsession with the merely visible world is itself proving to be nothing more than a mirage, which as lions know is quite illusory. I believe senior cats have an unparalleled role to play in the coming Esprit Nouveau, which is why I do not wish to give up on Paolo. One day, I hope, he will stop playing his annoying "game" of catching my tail and ask himself what is the purpose of a tail? And perhaps even share my interest in tail sculptures of the Early Bowl Age.

--B.

Internal memorandum

From: Editor

To: Freelance Columns Editor

Brindis' column, as expected, generated a very healthy discussion amongst our readers and his incisive wit is just what is needed in the Observer. I was very pleasantly surprised by the favourable reactions to Paolo's column. Although he lacks polish, to say the least, he has a promising ability to tap into the less intellectual market segment. I therefore propose that under Brindis' guidance he should be given the chance to develop a more eloquent style. After 3-4 weeks as Brindis' assistant he will be able to start his own column.

Letters to the Editor:

Sir,

I am a Canadian cat, living in the mountainous regions of Alberta. Mountain cats have dwelt in these regions since time immemorial, though we still feel a strong connection to the mythical Egyptian cat races whose culture we venerate. I therefore read, with interest, Mr. Brindis' column regarding the civilisation (or attempts at civilisation) of European humans. Our European cousins evidently suffer the same inanities as we do. So frustrated have we become with the failure of these humans to become civilised beings that we have 'gone underground', as it were, and now allow them to operate a boisterous and insensitive diurnal culture while secretly continuing our explorations in art, science and astonomy under cover of darkness. Of course it goes without saying that humans are unable to function under cover of darkness while cats, again demonstrating our superiority, can do so perfectly. You may have heard rumours of the demise of the Canadian mountain cat, ocelot, or lynx. Fear not. We are here still. The humans just don't know it.

Yours Etc.

Ota Scott

On behalf of the Feline Fraternity of Canada.

Dear Mr Paolo, [Aren't these meant to be letters to the EDITOR? - Ed]

My name is Tikka and I am a cat from Ontario. I like food too. I like other stuff too. Someone read me your column. I think I like it but I don't really understand it.

Oh. Gotta go. Dinner time.

Tikka Scott.

Somewhere in Ontario

Sir,

Brindis appears to believe that humans "have every right to share our world". I wonder if he has heard of an environmental project in London, where special wild areas have been set aside for humans and cats are not permitted, except with special permission? It has been very successful.

Yours faithfully,

Horatio Troubadour

Sir,

Brindis seems quite happy to stand up for the rights of humans, but does not know anything about cat nature. Having lost an eye in a fight, I can tell you that not all cats are as "sophisti-cat-ed" (missed a joke there, didn't you Brindis) as he thinks. He clearly does not have a clue about the real world. Let's have some more stuff by cats like Paolo!

Yours faithfully,

Tom Scracha

Sir,

I was interested to read Brindis' new column. I also noticed an article by a cat called Paolo who has evidently had a richly varied life. Perhaps the two would like to combine their writing into a single column?

Yours etc.,

Felicity Ratcatcher

--A number of letters have been received suggesting that the two cats should combine their writing. We are pleased to report that they have agreed to do so - Editor.

Sir,

Has anyone noticed what the initials of your newspaper stand for?

Yours,

Jo Dumbpuss

[I said this was NOT to be published - Ed.]

New Appointment to Feline Observer

by Hugo du Chat Noir, Editor

Since interviewing Brindis and Paolo (Gentlecats of Distinction, The Feline Observer, 2.3.2003) we have been inundated with letters, many suggesting that they should each write a regular column in the Observer. We put the proposal to the cats separately, who both agreed to allow an extract from the conversations to be published.

BRINDIS

Observer: The article in last week's issue of the Observer attracted a great deal of favourable comment. Many of our readers suggested that both you and Paolo should write a regular column. Would you consider the idea?

Brindis: For my part, I'd be delighted to contribute, but to be perfectly frank I am very doubtful of Paolo's ability to string two words together. [Alter to "meet the exacting standards of the Observer" - Editor] In fact, the only reason I'm saying this, in light of the fact that it will be published, is because he is unable to read and so he will never find out my opinion. Otherwise, of course, I'd be far more diplomatic.

Observer: Might he not be a source of inspiration for your column?

Brindis: He might very well be one of many sources.

Observer: Do you have experience of journalism?

Brindis: Not per se... well, perhaps, if by journalism you mean contributing to a journal... in that case yes, I do, but in an academic vein: I have reported feline discoveries of ancient sites and artefacts in The London Archeological Journal.

Observer: There's demand for that sort of objective, dispassionate stuff.

Brindis: I wouldn't use the word 'stuff' myself but since you mention it, I agree that a great deal of journalism is just that, the sort of thing one uses to line one's looh when the cat-litter has run out. Or put in those recycling bins, which also serve as lavatories for some less fortunate cats. Yes, I wouldn't mind doing my bit to raise the ludicrously low standard of writing in the British press, your own newspaper included [Change to "maintain the unrivalled reputation of your esteemed organ" - Editor]

Observer: I look forward to reading your column.

PAOLO

Observer: Your interview was very well received by our public. We were wondering if you would like to write a short paragraph to fill up a gap in the paper once in a while? [Surely "contribute to our organ's splendid traditions of excellence?" - Editor]

Paolo: Yes, I'm sure my life is interesting for other cats to read about.

Observer: Perhaps in the style of Calvino, little anecdotes about your old life in Tuscany?

Paolo: Calvino? He sounds Italian. I should point out that although I grew up in Tuscany, I'm actually from an English family. [Surely "pedigree" - Editor] I must say I love anecdotes, especially the beef and vegetable ones that come in a pink box from the supermarket.

Observer: We'll be in touch in due course.

---

Allow us now, without further ado, to publish Brindis's column. He has been given a free paw.

---

Seeing the world through human eyes

by Brindis

Observed from a feline perspective, the world appears dominated by our species and it even seems strange to imagine that we are descended from wild tigers who rely on hunting and killing for their basic survival. (Unless, of course one believes in a literal interpretation of religion, in which case we were created in the River Nile by the Supreme Cat).

But imagine yourself, if you will, in the bare skin of a human, and look at the earth from another angle. Life would be difficult and harsh and there would be no-one to ensure that you were fed and maintained regularly. In such circumstances, you might be forgiven for believing that providing for yourself and your family is not, as we modern cats believe, a primitive and futile task, but on the contrary a great and noble cause. Indeed, you might ask, what would happen if I failed to procure food? It is something our wild tiger ancestors knew (and the few survivors still know) by instinct, but a question that we modern, "civilised" cats all too often fail to pose to ourselves.

Naturally one would never advocate a return to the wild, and the unfortunate cats who are born on a rural hillside, for example, pay for their "hunter instinct" with greatly reduced intellectual faculties. I should correct myself, for these cats are rarely hunters in the true sense and their "instinct" amounts to little more than overeating in the summer in preparation for the meagre foods upplies of the winter. I am thinking more of the lives of the truly wild species: dogs, humans, tigers. With age, I have come to recognise a certain nobility in their mode vivre and I wonder if we cats are becoming a little over-civilised, a trifle too urbane, obsessed with our suave dignity and sophistication ?

With this in mind, I have recently foresaken my Hygiene-O-Cat Looh and (purely in the interest of research) treated the surface of the earth (in my case, the living room floor, but the principle is the same) as a giant cesspool, in the manner of humans, asking myself whether my actions are indeed savage or, as humans would maintain, for the common good. Quite predictably, the stench became unbearable until even my companion Paolo, who often gives me cause to question whether he is very much higher than the average human, asked me to desist. But it raised a further paradox, which will be the subject of my next article: is the human "survival instinct", which drives the apparently barbaric behaviour of that species in the interests of its own perpetuity, perhaps having the opposite effect? Is the human instinct itself endangering the very future of that mammal? Should we cats perhaps worry a little less about ourselves, for once, and care a little more about the future of those curious and unique creatures who, after all, have every right to share our world?

--B.

---

We also received a submission from Paolo. An abridged version is published below, but owing to his abyssmal standards we do not expect to see him in print very often [surely "the limits of space may sometimes preclude us from publishing his writing in its entirety"? - Editor]

---

My life

by Paolo

I was born on a farm. My parents were both English, from an aristo-cat-ic (joke!) family. [Take this out - Editor] They left for Italy before I was born and they already lived there when I was born, which is the reason I was born in Italy. [Has anyone bothered proof-reading this? - Editor] Or so I'm told. I was always close to my mother, but when I was one year old my father carried me from my home and left me on a hillside. I got lost for days, until I found a farm run by two lovely people who only ate vegetables. The only problems, at first, were the large rats who scared me to death, but I soon learnt never to go into the barn where the other cats went rat-hunting. I stayed on, eating the kind people's food, but for some reason it seemed to rain more and more, until it was raining cats and dogs - haha! [Are we really going to publish this? - Editor] I wondered if that had something to do with me. Suddenly, one day the people just left. I am sure that this was because of me. [I agree - Editor]. The weather started being very cold and I was always hungry. I knew I should have eaten more when they were there. I had to go around the farms looking for scraps and felt very lonely and [We can cut out half this drivel - Editor] So one day in the third year or perhaps the fourth they just put me in a car and took me a long way, then I remember being put in a strange machine with two wheels and going very fast to the place where I live now. [Nice happy ending, cut the rest - Editor].

Copyright P. Calderwood 2003 [Not needed! - Editor]

Paolo and Brindis, Gentlecats of Distinction

by Hugo du Chat Noir

My meeting with Paolo and Brindis, two gentlecats of distinction, began with a visit to Paolo, who told me he is a minor aristocrat, having given up his country house on a Tuscan hillside for urban life in Amsterdam. His hobbies include football, which he used to play with the local team, and eating. Formerly vegetarian, he says that since moving he has added a range of international cuisine to his diet. He has overcome a phobia of mice and his ambition is one day to catch one, although he says he would let it go again, considering the act of eating a mouse to be somewhat barbaric, especially since he tasted processed food. 'When I moved to the Netherlands, supermarkets were a revelation' says Paolo. 'The range and quality of food here is far, far superior to anything I had tasted before'. Isn't that odd, I ask, coming from an Italian? 'Not at all' continues Paolo. 'Italian food is essentially orientated towards human consumption. Dutch food is far more suitable for cats.'

Brindis' wide-ranging interests include philosophy and scultpure. He has studied the Classics and hopes one day to visit Athens, having campaigned vigorously against the feline visa restrictions, which he describes as 'a nightmare of bureaucracy and red tape'. Ushering us into his gracious drawing room, he leaps with surprising grace (considering his undisclosed, but evidently advancing years) into an Art Deco chair. Brindis describes the latest archeological finding, a Roman mosaic. 'It was discovered by a stray cat at an East End building site.' says Brindis. 'In a sense, I miss the city strays, who are often surprisingly bright chaps'. Despite travelling for many years, Brindis has always considered London to be his home. 'Only the most intelligent of cats survive crossing the road', he adds, and I am sure I can detect the subtlest of glances in the direction of Paolo.