I read and enjoyed a few short stories by this Czech writer as a teenager, but the one that had stuck with me the most is this humorous and delightful story written from a feline point of view. I love the glimpses of genuine affection behind the arrogance.
This beautifully framed, happy chonk was painted by a Chinese artist in the 18th century.
I’m sure this is how my cat would prefer me to feed him every day. I love the addition of the jealous little dog beneath the fluffy feline overlord.
Louis Wain (1860 – 1939) was an English artist famous for the thousands of sketches and paintings of cats displaying human behaviour. They enchanted the Victorians who were more likely to see cats as a mildly irritating tool of pest control. Some of his art is too saccharine and cutesy for my liking, but I love this painting in which a feline bachelor party is clearly approaching an advanced stage of debauchery. I bet there’s catnip in those cigars!
I want him to have another living summer,
to lie in the sun and enjoy the douceur de vivre –
because the sun, like golden rum in a rummer,
is what makes an idle cat un tout petit peu ivre –
I want him to lie stretched out, contented,
revelling in the heat, his fur all dry and warm,
an Old Age Pensioner, retired, resented
by no one, and happinesses in a beelike swarm
to settle on him – postponed for another season
that last fated hateful journey to the vet
from which there is no return (and age the reason),
which must come soon – as I cannot forget
– Gavin Ewart
Despite the promising start, 2021 turned out to be pretty much a lockdown-ridden sequel to 2020. But once again, my little fluffball remained blissfully ignorant of the COVID-19 crisis and just enjoyed his chance to pester me while I was working from home.
She sights a Bird – she chuckles –
She flattens – then she crawls –
She runs without the look of feet –
Her eyes increase to Balls –
Her Jaws stir – twitching – hungry
Her Teeth can hardly stand –
She leaps, but Robin leaped the first –
Ah, Pussy, of the Sand,
The Hopes so juicy ripening –
You almost bathed your Tongue –
When Bliss disclosed a hundred Toes –
And fled with every one –
– Emily Dickinson