Long before the découpage cats and Bella Freud T-shirts, there were the real ones: Dougal the show-winning tabby (who turned out to be a girl), Crippen the gentle namesake of a notorious murderer, Gypsy the wanderer, and the short, hard-fought lives of Macbeth and Truman. Around them cluster the souvenirs a lifelong cat person collects on her travels—a Met Museum needlepoint kit, a Guggenheim gift-shop plush inspired by Chagall, two wooden fishermen from Bali—each one a small monument to the felines, real and imagined, who have kept Shona company since childhood.
Dougal
I have no photos of our family’s very first cat. Jet-black with a not ‘PC’ name as I write this 70 years later! A placid cat who loved rides in my dolls’ pram, while drinking milk from a baby’s bottle! That cat disappeared one day and it was many years before Dad informed me that he had found my FURiend nearby, the victim of roadkill.
Next came a male tabby,Tigger; we were not too creative name-wise! Tigger shortly moved to neighbours when Dad’s sudden new job took us to NZ’s southernmost city, Invercargill.
Dougal, a furbulous smoky grey, came to us via a farming family Dad met through his job. Dougal arrived in a cardboard box with a tomato as a toy! A vet check revealed that the farmer had made a mistake: Dougal was a GIRL! We kept the name however and I entered HER in the local cat show, where she won a silver trophy for Best Speyed Female! That’s me with Dougal at the show, and her photo on my bookshelf today. Mum made her the cushion- from GRANT tartan, of course! Dougal enjoyed car trips and even moved cities with us. She lived over 17 pawsome years.
Crippen
A jet black cat, there was nothing at all evil about Crippen. Rather it was her colour that led my then husband (yes, another misdiagnosis!) to name her after the DARK deeds of Dr Hawley Crippen who was hanged in prison, proven guilty of poisoning and dismembering his second wife, Cora. In a bizarre coincidence, my mother’s name was also Cora!
Crippen began life in Wellington, NZ and came to us as a tiny kitten, after a friend’s cat ‘mysteriously’ produced a litter under his house! Crippen proved a most adaptable feline, moving houses in NZ and finally landing in Australia. I will never forget the purrs of joy from her cage when I collected her at Melbourne Airport. Crippen brought along her clockwork mouse, which kept going- minus chewed off tail -for years. The replacement rodent was not a success. I keep both, souvenirs of Crippen, a loyal FURiend for 16 years until feline AIDS- then not well-managed- made her life unbearable, a peaceful end the only option. Her notorious namesake: less so!
Gypsy
A lot of research went into my next cat, including visits to rescue centres and the Cat Protection Society. So many cats, but practically, I could manage only one. I learned of a local foster-carer who had a litter of gypsy tortoiseshell kittens. After two visits, I received an approving tick and one ‘Gypsy’ came home with me. Gypsy, true to her name, would wander fearlessly around the neighbourhood, but always came home.
All went well for several years until the arrival of a new tenant next door, along with her two aggressive Abyssinian cats; life became a series of cat fights involving both humans and felines. I had to install a special battery operated cat flap to protect Gypsy from the invaders, who would race at the flap only to slam into it head-on! We were all saved when Gypsy and I moved to apartment life, where she lived to be 17. I started doing cat tapestries during that era and indeed still see Gypsy in that very first one, behind her in the photo.
Macbeth
Oops! Another black cat with a name redolent of a murderous character! However, I justify the naming of Macbeth by way of his breed -Scottish Fold- my own Scottish heritage and my fondness for Shakespeare’s Macbeth. I was fascinated by these cats with the folded over ears. They did originate in Scotland, but their ‘cute looks’ result from a genetic mutation with the tongue twisting name: osteochondrodysplasia. The condition impacts on cartilage development, inclusive of the ears.
While Macbeth was a handsome cat with a shiny black coat and eyes like two mandarins, he had health issues virtually from day one. I felt sorry for him when I went to his breeders, as he seemed to have been overlooked, being older than the usual age for ‘leaving home’. We had many costly visits to local vets and specialists. Macbeth was a battler, like his ill-fated namesake but used up all of his nine lives in just six years. We gave him a Scottish farewell on a checked towel – ‘the closest to tartan I have’ said the vet who knew us well by then. Macbeth’s photo sits on the black tin of his ashes, alongside a special -and black!- découpage companion. ‘All hale, Macbeth! Hail to thee’! To quote the bard.
Truman
“The naming of cats is a difficult matter, a cat needs a name that’s particular…”wrote T.S. Eliot in his famous poem. Having just read ‘In Cold Blood’ by Truman Capote, when my next cat turned up (rescued from a litter found on a local street) his name was not at all ‘a difficult matter’. Truman and I soon embarked on a journey that in its own way, turned out to be as much of an endurance test as the writer’s during his research for his bestselling book.
My hope for a healthy cat after the trials of Macbeth, were soon tested. Truman’s ears and part of his became horribly inflamed; he meowed- wailed- in obvious pain. We endured countless trips to the Animal Hospital whence I had rescued him, tried different diets and medications, to no sustained benefit. As a last resort, Truman had surgery to remove some of the convoluted ear cartilage of felines’ ears. A very costly ‘FAIL’ plus an even more traumatised patient and owner…so hard.
Aged four, Truman slipped peacefully away in the caring hands of his last vet. However his was a ‘good death’ when compared to those of the family, the murdered subjects, of his namesake’s book!
The Met Pussy
On my second trip to New York in 1994, I’m ashamed to say that I did not get beyond the shop at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Time was against me, but as I had revived an earlier interest in needlepoint and recently ‘brushed up’ my skills at some tapestry classes, I was determined to have the DIY craft kit of Erica Wilson’s ‘My Favourite Cat’. I knew this to be exclusive to the Met Shop.
Near panic arose when in my eagerness to make my purchase and be on time to meet a friend, I could not find the kit! I circled the store again: no cat. With time flying, I asked an assistant for help. ‘Oh yes,’ she said, ‘My Favourite Cat is everyone’s favourite, so we often run out of it, but I’ll check the storeroom.’ I was in luck! A last kit – mine! Back home, I couldn’t wait to attack the canvas. I had not realised that the kit-cat was worked in silk rather than wool as I was used to. Up for a challenge, I forged ahead, feeling as if I had expended nine lives myself by the time I added the last stitch! ‘My Favourite Cat’ resides on a sofa, a reminder of a very different NYC.
Mr Chagall
NYC, 1994, likely the same day of my MET adventure, I went to the nearby Guggenheim Museum. Years ago my then boyfriend had given me an illustrated book about Russian/French artist, Marc Chagall: I was captivated and determined to someday see for myself his Cubist-influenced, whimsical oil ‘Paris Through a Window’, included in the ‘Gugg’s’ permanent collection. The reality did not disappoint: the painting, set in Paris-a city I’d also been smitten by- included a colourful, human-faced cat! Magical…..Memorable…..
As I was leaving the museum, I caught sight of a plush CAT sitting on a shelf at the entrance to the museum’s store: a merchandiser’s excellent interpretation of the cat in the painting! The same colours and haunted stare. Also a colourful cow from another Chagall artwork. Hobson’s choice here: the cat was an essential addition to my ‘cattery’ back home. ‘Chagall’- as christened by me- sits silently on another shelf in Melbourne, a reminder of a boyfriend, a book, Paris, NYC, art. I added the crocheted bow tie a few years ago when I met an enterprising young woman who made accessories for pets: I like to think the artist would approve.
Cats Fishing
When I went to Bali in 2001 to celebrate a friend’s 70th birthday, I not only encountered live cats everywhere, including at our villa home, but also thousands of decorated carved felines at roadside stalls, markets – they were everywhere. However, I resisted aside from a tiny cute cat with an extra long tail, spotted in a shop in Ubud, where we were forced to shelter during one of the sudden downpours common to the area.
Amongst our party on that visit was my friend, Greg, who had installed the cat flap to fend off Gypsy’s tormentors. On a subsequent trip to Bali, recalling that era, when Greg spotted a sitting wooden cat holding a fishing rod -with catch- he brought it home for me. Now the two Balinese cats sit with their fish on a side table. I can’t hazard a guess at how many times I have knocked into the dangling fish and it, with the fishermen, fall to the floor! The original line broke, the replacement I made in furious haste is not as delicate, the whole set up still hits the floor at times, triggering many memories of Bali, Gypsy, other eras…
