Brindis&Paolo

Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat, Where have you been?
by Paolo

When I was a kitten my mother taught me a nursery rhyme, which even now that I have reached maturity [surely "late kittenhood" ? - Brindis] I still recite to myself. Here is how it goes:


Pussy cat, pussy cat where have you been?

I've been to London to visit the Queen.

Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat what did you there?

I frightened a little mouse under her chair.


I used to have nightmares about this fearsome cat who not only had the courage to go to London, but could frighten mice away! Every mouse I have ever seen has scared me to death, except for the clockwork mouse which was rather fearsome at first, but soon wound down and turned into a rather fun little toy. Well, this week in Holland was Queen's Day and to celebrate I thought I would dress up as a polar bear. The child Marlene and I have a lovely large toy polar bear in our bed and on Queen's Day I woke up very early and crept under the bear until Silvia, my human mother went looking for me. I heard her calling 'Paolo, Paolo' and felt very happy and loved, since she was clearly missing me terribly. Just then I heard opening a tin of cat food. She had kindly decided to offer me something to eat, in case I turned up, and by now I felt rather terrible about my deception. So I leapt out from under the bear and jumped off the bed, but who should I land on but Marlene, who screamed "Mummy Mummy, Paolo scratched me' and ran off crying. It really hadn't intended to do anything of the sort and so fearing a terrible punishment, both for my little joke and for my unfortunate landing pad, I ran off to hide under the bed where it is very dusty but relatively safe. My heart beating quickly, I suddenly recalled a rather terrible rhyme - and this one still gives me nightmares:


Ding dong bell,

Pussy's in the well.

Who put her in?

Little Johnny Thin.

Who pulled her out?

Little Johnny Stout.

What a naughty boy was that

To try and drown poor Pussy Cat.


Soon Mummy was back with a long stick, which I knew she meant to beat me with, but she must have had a sudden change of heart because she only prodded me gently until I ran out into her arms and she scooped me up and carried me over to of a delicious meal of meat and biscuits. This is just how a Queen should be, strong and firm but gentle. And so I spent the rest of the day cuddling up to her, watching all the boats, people and cats parading outside the window in her honour. Several times she, Marlene and I waved and the people waved back and bowed. (As Brindis has told me, cats do not need to bow, since only humans and dogs are obliged to show humility before their superiors.) Lord Brindis himself joined in the celebrations by retiring to his chamber to sleep.

Letters to the Editor

Sir,

We, Heavenly Mothers of the Sun, run a Buddisht cats' home for abandoned Chinese kittens. We are looking for suitable adoptive parents for some of them. We have been overwhelmed with a sudden increase in the number of admissions to our home. The Chinese Goverment has given us a grant to provide transport in and out of China for the chosen kitten girls. Currently we have Tian-Nao (1 week), Mai-Saw(just born) ...and other 100,000 kittens.

Heaven be with you,

Sisters of the Happy Solicitude

Guan-Kong-Po - China

Herr Editor,

Your correspondent Brindis shows a great understanding of German culture and we just want to say: Wunderkatze!

The New Cat Philosophy Society - Heidelberg - Germany

Sir,

In "The Rising Sun" (5.4.03) Paolo said that in his next article he would write about his marbles and his experiments with the physical properties thereof. Since then several weeks have passed and it has still not appeared. Please explain.

Yours etc.,

Dr. Whisker

Paolo writes:

Unfortunately I could not complete my experiments as all the marbles are trapped beneath the radiator. I substituted a small chocolate Easter egg but as it did not roll in a straight line I did not consider it to be scientifically acceptable. I know how many cats are awaiting eagerly awaiting the results of my experiments and will endeavour to complete them as soon as my marbles have been recovered.

Rédacteur,

Je note un manque d'avis français de chat en votre journal (ce mot est également Français, comme tout ce qui est bon dans la vie - naturellement, nous ne serons jamais comme nos camarades américains, qui pensent la "liberté" est le seul bon mot!) Est-ce que de bons vieux chats des familles françaises ne sont pas autour? Je suis sûr que le cuisine français et la mode française méritent un endroit en votre journal.

Vôtre

Pierre Aromatique (Guide Bleu D'Aliments pour chats De Chef- Micheline De Cordon)

Estimado Señor Editor,

I am amazed by the omission of WE, THE LATINO CATS in the Feline Observer. The culture of WE, THE LATINO CATS is being ignored! Paolo is an Italian and Brindis' name also indicates a LATINO origin. Perhaps he could tell us more about his current name. What about the delicious food produced by WE, THE LATINO CATS? Rats chorizo is a delicatessen few can match. WE, THE LATINO CATS urge you to rectify this omission!

De usted,

Francisco de la Rotonda y Salteador de la Moya Briceño y Santa Maria

Andalucia - Spain

Sir,

Our community in Beirut is very concerned about the flagrant demonstration of cultural domination in the letter by Pierre Aromatique. I'd like to point out that English is the language for your publication, and yet you see fit to publish a French letter [??? - Ed.] Furthermore your magazine purports to be international in scope, yet only seems to cater for European tastes. Persian cats are under-represented, yet we were the favourite animal of the Prophet Mohammed. You must be aware that in the Arab world we are considered holy and in such places as Morocco, food is given to us freely and without the obligation to share our lives with humans, as Brindis and Paolo seem to do. We are protected and highly respected as the most intelligent beings on Earth besides our Prophet. I hope in future you can also show some of our world to the rest of the world. What about our mathematics, our architecture, our literature, our cosmic vision of the world? There is more to us!

Peace unto you

Ali Cat

"Save the holy places in Mesopotamia from pillage!"

Sir,

Brazilians cats admire the Italian "beautiful game". Señor Brindis' degrading comments about the beautiful game are most unjustified. Here in Brazil, we have won the World Cup four times (humans did the same) and the game is played by everybody from garotas in the beaches of Ipanema to the poor garihños in the Favelas. Cats practise not only with their paws, but also using their heads in a manner that few can imitate. Football is art, as it imitates life. Paolo: we look forward to your opinions about world football players as Pussy Beckham, Miaow Zidanne, etc.

Football is science, as it has exact qualities. And dont forget the greats Pele and Maradona. So, Señor Brindis, stop putting football down, otherwise we will talk with Yemanya about you!

Best regards,

Santeiro Society - Joao "palihño" de Vasconsuelos - Salvador de Bahia - Brazil.

Sir,

Chill our man! Vente, Vente to enjoy Mexico. A bit of Nachos, burritos, tacos y tequilas will make you enjoy the sporcatship of Football. We Aztec cats invented football, and even when loosing (Mexico 0 - Peru 6 in the Word Cup 1970), we never stopped shouting MEXICO, MEXICO,MEXICO LINDO.

Hasta la vista, baby,

Amigos del Buen Querer - Oxaca - Puebla - Mexico

Sir,
Gotta watch out for that pussy Brindis! Not all of us, Darlington Second Division fans are happy with his undermining of footie. We aren't HOOLIGANS!. We do like our beer and the company of the mates, and sometimes to bash old Paolo. Italians play better than us so they can take it!!!

Cheers mate,

Tom Melham - Secondary School Teacher

Brindis writes:

I did not as people are saying 'put football down', merely stated that I was unqualified to appreciate it and that my former companion did not like it. Both of these are undeniable facts.

Caro Paolo,

We in the old country are proud of you. We only regret that you are more proud of your English pedigree than of your Italian upbringing. What would there be of the old country without our beloved villagers? I for example cannot go out without a pageant of six cats to follow me up and organise my surrounding in the most adequate manner, in accordance with my position and as affording me the greatest pleasure. Long life to you.

Sincero,

Luchino (Cat belonging to the current Duque de Visconti).

Classified

Missing owner

I am a happy young cat girl (1 year old), looking to pass a message to her old owner, Mr Renier van der Walt. He left me in the nice hands of a friend of his. I am having a lovely time in her garden, smelling the flowers, and chasing the butterflies. However I still miss him. Renier: wherever you are, remember me. I'll always love you.

Kisses,

Deneuve.

Lost and found

Moscow talks! We have hear of your Journal and we are very proud of it. Lets demolish the old order!

We recognise Reverend H. Mackat (she appeared in one of your articles) from the old times in Moscow, where she run a lovely cat home. How can we get in touch with her? Please tell her that Boris, Dimitri, Igor, Natalia, Ivan miss her lots, epecially our cold nights in the company of her lovely fireplace and vodka. Tovarish!

Best regards,

The Anarchist Cat Society - Moscow PostBox 555 - Russia

Die Katze im Kunst

by Brindis

Some years ago, I shared a flat in Earl's Court, London with an itinerant artist from Germany called Ingrid. We lived together for a year, but sadly she was obliged to return to Germany without me, leaving me only a painting entitled 'Berthold' (my name in German). This was in the days of the Iron Curtain, when visas to the mainland Continent were almost impossible to obtain due to the supposed threat of rabies. Yet that year was one of the most interesting in my life. Ingrid taught me art appreciation and aesthetics, whilst I would model for her as she sketched her charcoal paintings with titles like 'Cat the Urban Warrior' or 'Cat Dancing on Wasteland'. I'm hardly that type of cat, but of course a composition is much more than the sum of its parts, something Ingrid taught me. We also watched splendid German films of the 1920's together, and I acquired fluency in the German language in no time at all. 'Ach Berthold, meine liebe Katze' she would murmur endearingly as we settled down in front of the black and white television (like me, she did not believe in colour).

I still surround myself with painting, scuplture and Arte Cinema, an affinity I share with my current companion Silvia. Our art collection continues to grow apace, and I was delighted with the set of four paintings she fetched from China. One of them appears to feature a cat similar to Paolo - 'why?' one might ask, but again, one must remind oneself that the whole is more than the sum of the parts. Silvia and I share an affection for the crystalline compositions of Hans Hinterreiter of the Haus Konstruktiv movement, which when studied closely appear to resemble the jerky, idiosyncratic movements of a young kitten at play. Then there is the wonderful form of the Mexican terracotta chiminea (a kind of traditional bread-oven) which Paolo appeared to think was designed as a lavatory until I enlightened him. The child Marlene has an intricate meccano-type toy designed by the Bauhaus, which she is quite unable to understand, but which I have spent many a happy hour assembling (mentally, of course) into countless configurations. I am delighted by Silvia's mosaic mirror with its sea-life, but which appeared quite commonplace to Paolo, coming as he does from Tuscany where cats have eaten from Roman mosaic floors for generations without ever really looking at them. And finally I must not omit the green teapot with its tail-shaped handle that often seems to acquire a life of its own. It is by a modern Dutch sculptor whom I do not know, but the artist communicates through their creation, and I never tire of playing games with the teapot, imitating its confident curves, turning myself into an art-form, at least until I am distracted by the sound of a marble propelled in my direction by a thrust of Paolo's paw. He claims that his football is a kind of art and perhaps he is right, but I am regrettably unqualified to appreciate it. Fortunately he never met Ingrid, who would not have taken too kindly to Paolo's concept of art.

Nature Watch

by Michelo de Tuscani

(translated by P. Piscino)

On our farm the patter of tiny paws marks the start of Spring and the mouse-hunting season when the vermin awaken from their winter hibernation. We all keep our eyes pealed for any baby birds who have fallen out of their nests, as they make great playmates for the kittens. That reminds me, I once had a sensitive young nephew called Paolo Pussyfoot, who emigrated to the city because he only wanted to play with leaves and could not be persuaded to take part in bloodsports!

At this time of year the ponds are overflowing with tadpoles, and our traditional village game of Paw-Dipping will soon be underway. That same Paolo tried it three years ago and fell in the water! He nearly drowned and it was the talk of the village for the whole Summer. Old Grandmother Gia will be giving the Paw-Dipping Prize this year, which is a plump rabbit from the moutains. And I'm the one who has to catch it - so I'll be off!

Internal memo:

From: Editor

To: Legal Dept.

Attached is today's Scum. As you can see, Paolo will be featured in tomorrow's edition. Please read carefully as we may have a strong case for libel

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
THE SCUM

Proprietor: R. Murcach

LOADSA PUSSIES

Tom sired his 8,000th kitten yesterday and gets the Scum award for Father of the Year. Tom says 'I change my litter once a week'!!!

THE CATS OF WAR

Our Toms now walk freely, claws outstretched, across the flat roofs of Bagpuss, encountering only sporadic spits and hisses from behind chimney pots. Our Scum reporter, who has been following the Night Prowlers, says Sadcat got more than his whiskers singed!!!

IN TOMORROW'S SCUM: POSH PAOLO - STAR IN THE MAKING?

Paolo was a poor cat living on a farm in sunny Italy. His rise to fame has been meteoric since he joined the Feline Observer. Our analyst says: Feline Observer? F.O.!!! We meet Paolo and strip him bare. Exclusive to The Scum.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

THE FELINE OBSERVER

The Roofs are Alive...

by Brindis

In my previous articles I have remarked upon what I consider to be the over-civilisation of Modern Cat, whilst pointing out that few yearn for the 'olden days' when cats roamed freely; still less can one imagine the rustic farmhouses where vestiges of that way of life still persist. Paolo, a cat who has experienced something akin to the life of the Noble Savage, feels little nostalgia for it and seems to be content with a cushion the same colour as he and a large bowl of biscuits. (Perhaps I should say two large bowls, since I invariably find mine empty after turning my back for a few seconds.) Paolo has become an urban (if not urbane) cat and would not survive if returned to his native habitat. Yet still I wonder whether we are throwing the kitten out with the bathwater? Are any aspects of that distant world of the Tribal Cat worth incorporating into our civilisation, often cited as the most advanced the world has ever seen?

Once, on my afternoon walk around a London square, I stopped in my tracks, quite enchanted, and listened to a group of wandering minstrels sitting on a roof. How they had penetrated central London I shall never know; one can only assume it was along a railway line, at night, when the electricity was turned off. The spectacle I witnessed then will be imprinted on my mind for ever. A large ginger cat had his paw down the chimney pot as the wind blew across it, making a sound at once dark and sonorous, reminding me of the tuba. A number of dainty young tabbies, the violinists, splashed in the gutter, delighted by the tinkling of the cascading water. Above their nubile young forms, a fearsome black cat with quiffed hair scratched the slate tiles rhythmically, arching his back ecstatically. I took it he was the percussionist. Facing him, the woodwind of the troupe, a thin stripy cat, hissed passionately through his teeth. Most remarkable of all, on the television aerial was perched an august black and white cat co-ordinating the performance with splendid sweeps of his tail. The sound of the whole ensemble was quite captivating, and I listened, enrapt, until darkness fell. Since then I have been convinced that there is something to be salvaged from this vanishing world of the vernacular, especially its folk music, passed from generation to generation for millions of years.

Several months of deep thought ensued, during which I conceived an intricate scheme whereby this music could be written down before it is lost forever. I was on the verge of putting my plan into action when a terrible thought occurred to me. The recording of music relies on average literary and musical transcripting skills, yet the cats who know these ancient melodies are not themselves literate. Worse still, the urban, literary cats such as those in Islington, who see themselves as liberal, high-minded intellectuals, are in reality loath to travel more than a few minutes away from their dinner bowl parties. To this day I have not solved the paradox, which was actually the origin of the 'town cat and the country cat' paradigm elaborated by Prof. Whisker. Nor, despite our frequent correspondence on the subject, have we found a solution.

I had more or less given up on the problem when Paolo appeared. His primitive, rustic manners were initially a little repellent but it quickly dawned on me that here was a chance to bridge these two worlds. Paolo was a cat who could be taught the essential literacy skills, yet at the same time would not feel at odds when sent on missions to the wild hinterlands beyond the city. It is a race against time. When an old cat dies, another part of our unwritten musical heritage is lost. At the same time, Paolo learns all too slowly, preferring to run off and play with the child Marlene, who seems to share his views about reading and writing. Nevertheless, I cling to the hope that Paolo will one day be able to carry out my plan, and that this ancient music will still be heard by kittens for years to come.

Letters by e-mail

Many letters reach the Editor's desk by post. You may also contact the Feline Observer by e-mail at the following address:
CatsJournalEditor@cipherware.com

We are unable to provide Brindis or Paolo's personal email address.

---Hugo du Chat Noir, Editor

Thought for the Week

by the Rev. H. Mackat

In our times, many cats have strayed from the True Path and are searching for sense, meaning and even discipline in their lives. The following passage shows that, as part of the Body and Tail of the Supreme Cat, we need no purpose whatsoever and should fill our few wakeful hours with esoteric pursuits such as existential philosophy and the study of Comfort Theory. Let us pray that the Broomstick Cat, with his evil Work Ethic, shall be banished from our lives.

"Adam and Eve said, "Lord, when we were in the garden, you walked with us every day. Now we do not see you any more. We are lonely here, and it is difficult for us to remember how much you love us."
And God said, "No problem! I will create a companion for you that will be with you forever and who will be a reflection of my love for you, so that you will love me even when you cannot see me. Regardless of how selfish or childish or unlovable you may be, this new companion will accept you as you are and will love you as I do, in spite of yourselves."
And God created a new animal to be a companion for Adam and Eve. And it was a good animal. And God was pleased.
And the new animal was pleased to be with Adam and Eve and he wagged his tail.
And Adam said, "Lord, I have already named all the animals in the Kingdom and I cannot think of a name for this new animal."
And God said, "No problem. Because I have created this new animal to be a reflection of my love for you, his name will be a reflection of my own name, and you will call him DOG."
And dog lived with Adam and Eve and was a companion to them and loved them.
And they were comforted.
And God was pleased.
And dog was content and wagged his tail.
After a while, it came to pass that an angel came to the Lord and said, "Lord, Adam and Eve have become filled with pride. They strut and preen like peacocks and they believe they are worthy of adoration. Dog has indeed taught them that they are loved, but perhaps too well."
And God said, "No problem! I will create for them a companion who will be with them forever and who will see them as they are. The companion will remind them of their limitations, so they will know that they are not always worthy of adoration."
And God created CAT to be a companion to Adam and Eve.
And cat would not obey them.
And when Adam and Eve gazed into cat's eyes, they were reminded that they were not the supreme beings.
And Adam and Eve learned humility.
And they were greatly improved.
And God was pleased.
And Dog was happy.
And Cat didn't give a shit one way or the other."
(Felix 3, 1-28)

Letters to the Editor

Sir,

I was enchanted with Paolo's article about the sun. If Brindis is a scholar, Paolo is a poet, and I would like to complement your esteemed organ on finding the perfect duet.

Yours,

Piero del Salami

The Rising Sun

by Paolo

Once again the sun has emerged from behind dark clouds and I cast my mind back to the Tuscany spring when he at last peeped his head above the mountains. It is a beautiful memory, but I am not nostalgic. If I remember with affection the warmth of the spring, I must in the same breath mention the barbarity of winter, when I was forced to listen to the screams of mice being savagely butchered by my fellow cats, whilst I, as a vegetarian, was obliged to hunt for roots in the frozen ground. Worst of all, there was no time to think: one of the greatest pleasures I have encountered in Holland is experimenting with the amazing physical properties of marbles, which I shall discuss in my next article. Yes, thinking is a new and unexepcted pleasure. I have a long life ahead of me and I am sure I shall have time to embark on pioneering research [??? - Brindis)]. For now, I am content to lie on my back watching the carefree white clouds dashing across the sky, wondering if they feel as I do when I play with my dear friend Marlene. One day we shall go out together, she in her beautiful white dress, I in my white smoking jacket, hand in paw, the owl and the pussycat going to sea, the Sundering Sea was it? What a lovely name, a name evoking dreams, dreams of...

Letters to the Editor

Sir,

I disagree with Brindis' comments about life in the old hutongs of Beijing. I lived in a hutong for many years and was quite happy to sharpen my claws on the pavement or a stone. Indeed, we used to inscribe Chinese symbols on the walls, which in the days before cat newspapers served as a very useful means of communication.

Regards,

H. Ho

Brindis writes:

I did not intend to criticise the hutong at all. I was merely referring to the general preference of younger cats for mod cons that are unavailable in the hutongs, not making any value judgment about the old way of life vs. the new.

Memories of Old China

by Brindis

One believes that one has trained the humans one keeps, but still their behaviour is often an unfathomable mystery. But perhaps that is one of the delights of keeping humans. I myself own three, who have once again surprised me: two weeks ago, with hardly a day's warning, they set off for China.

In my youth, I used to espouse the company of (or, as young alley-cats say now, "hang out with") a large family of Siamese cats - it was before the days of the "one kitten" policy - who would recant tales of their adventures amongst the hutongs and temples of old Beijing. So vivid was the atmosphere conjoured up by their ramblings that I can almost lay claim to being a native of the city myself, and it was most interesting to contrast this vision with the experiences of my own humans.

My humans first told me about Hong Kong, which they said has a great deal of traffic. That always attracts me to a place because it prevents the less intelligent amongst us from crossing the main roads, confining this segment of society to small neighbourhoods. It sounds delightful that fish is sold directly from tanks, not wrapped in irritating cling-film and polystyrene as it is here. The city faces beautiful tree-covered hillsides and whilst an ugly expanse of water might put some cats off, this is at the very back of the city and carefully concealed by a wall of tall buildings. I have already applied for a visa so that I can vist Hong Kong myself next year.

On to Beijing. My humans told me that many of the old hutong areas have been demolished. This arouses mixed feelings. On the one hand, they offered tremendous excitement and adventure. On the other, cats had few of the amenities one now takes for granted: a bowl, a scratch-pole, a lavatory changed twice a week by an obedient human. Can the cat of today imagine sharpening his or her claws on a brick wall? I think not. The large roads might appear to be a welcome change to the city, but I hear that the CCCC (Central Cat Council of China) has withdrawn its subsidies in training cats to cross the road. To those not accustomed to the speed of modern life they must be quite a hazard and unlike certain cats of the younger generation in Europe, who grow up wasting their chances to learn, some cats in China will never be offered those opportunities.

I was pleased to hear that the old temples are still intact. I remember a story my old Siamese friend told me. He was almost blind and used to navigate around the temple grounds using the large stone lions, which he could just about make out, as reference points. One day a couple of the lions had somehow been moved and he found himself on another cat's territory, who happened to be an Emperor-Cat living in a throne-tree. My friend, in complete innocence, climbed the very tree where the Emperor-Cat was lying. As he climbed, the tree shook more and more violently, until the Emperor-Cat fell off his branch and landed on the ground with a loud thump. Cats from far and wide heard him fall and came to investigate. Whereupon they saw the fat Emperor-Cat lying on the ground, bruised but saved from serious injury by the rolls of fat around his ample midriff. The more enlightened cats realised that he was not divinely appointed, but subject to the law of gravity like any other cat (perhaps I should say more than any other cat). Some of the more superstitious cats, however, believed that only a cat with supernatural powers could ever have been able to dislodge the Emperor-Cat. My friend, quite unwittingly, became the deity incarnate, began to draw a following of worshippers. At first his new position was quite enjoyable, and he would miaow loudly at the sight of so many blissful faces in the rapturous crowd. Soon, however, his flock began to bring him offerings of mice and birds. He was a committed pacifist and knew that it was now time to leave his native country. And so he and his family came to London, eschewing fame, remaining happily anonymous and unknown. He lived with an old lady who shared his views about bird-catching, until he died of old age in 1985.

--B.