Devilish Cats - how felines got a bad reputation.

In the Middle Ages, any self respecting witch kept a familiar, an animal acting as a link to the devil. The most commonly recognised familiar was a cat, preferably a black one. But have you ever stopped to wonder how such a perfectly adorable animal became linked to black magic and evil?

To answer that question we need to look at the reputation cats had in medieval times. Highly prized as a catcher of mice the 10^th century law of Hywel Dda has this to say.

“The value of a kitten from the night it is born until it opens its eyes, one legal penny:

And from then until it kills mice, two legal pence:

And after it kills mice, four legal pence,

And that it remains for ever.

Her properties are to see and hear and kill mice.”

But it was this reputation as a mouser that also got cats into trouble, as typified by this quote by Caxton from the ‘Royal Book’ of 1484.

“The devil playeth often with the synnar [sinner] lyke the catte [cat] doth with the mous. [mouse.]”

This symbolism, with the cat as the devil, toying with the human soul was widely popular in churches and depicted in the misericords. These small wooden ledges, designed to rest against during long periods of standing, were often ornately carved with scenes from cautionary tales. Misericords were seen, and the message understood by illiterate ordinary folk at church.

An example of a misericord - a simple wooden ledge for leaning on during lengthy church services.

With this in mind it’s not surprising that as early as 1211 Gervase of Tilbury writes about the cat as a shape shifting manifestation of a witch’s familiar.

“Women have been seen and wounded in the shapes of cat by persons secretly on the watch.”

These same wounds were later identified on the woman….Just a thought but surely having the cat and woman present in the same room at the same time would rapidly discount this argument?

The Cats' Meat Man ...and Jack the Ripper (Part 2)

Following our introduction to ‘The Cats’ Meat Man’, this second post looks further at his work and considers the grizzly (and real!) link between a Victorian pet food seller and Jack the Ripper.

            But firstly, consider what a service the Cats’ Meat Men provided to previous centuries of animal lovers. Each Meatman had a territory and knew where prospective clients lived and who was prepared to pay what. Some customers were ‘every other day’ clients and on the off day, the neighbourhood cats learnt to ignore the Meatman as he passed by.

For regular customers the Meatman was prepared to post meat skewers through the letter box and collect his money weekly. The cheaper cuts were dyed green as unfit for human consumption and the customer would dip it in weak vinegar and rub with a cloth to remove fly eggs and maggots! Yewh!

But not all customers were good ones; again Charles Ross writing in 1868;

            ‘Old maids are bad though very plentiful customers… they will pay one half-penny and owe another, and forget that after a day or two.’

            Cats’ Meat Men were not just a UK phenomena and in New York, there was also a thriving community of them. Artist and cat lover Louis Wain celebrated their humane services to strays by hosting an elaborate supper in honour of the Cats’ Meat Men. It seems the American Meatman offered whale to his customers, as well as horsemeat; the meat sold raw, except for a small amount boiled specifically for invalid cats. Not to be outdone there was shark on the menu for customers of Meatmen in Australia.

A typical painting by 'cat' artist Louis Wain.

            But what has this to do with Jack the Ripper – I hear you ask. Well,

            Even in deprived areas of London selling pet meat could be lucrative enough to finance a shop. One such shop at

29 Hanbury Road

, Whitechapel hit the news in 1888 when one of Jack the Ripper’s victims was discovered in the back yard. The shadowy cut through neighbouring the property was popular with local residents, a fact that hadn’t escaped the Ripper.

29 Hanbury Street, Whitechapel.  A Pet Meat shop and site of Anne Chapman's murder.

The mutilated body of Anne Chapman was found in the yard of Samuel Stockton’s Meatshop on 8^th September, by one of the 17 residents living in rooms above the shop.

The back yard at Hanbury Street. Anne Chapman's body was found lying parallel to the fence, her head almost touching the steps.

Of course, feeding cats or eating cat, was perhaps a matter of need and perspective. In Victorian times, it seems a not uncommon dish for the less well off was ‘Cat Pie,’ as hinted at in this passage from Charles Dickens’, ‘Pickwick Papers’.

‘Veal pie,' said Mr. Weller, soliloquizing, as he arranged the eatables on the grass.  'Very good thing is veal pie, when you know the lady as made it, and is quite sure it ain't kittens … they're so like veal that the very piemen themselves don't know the difference.'

Author interview with Joselyn Vaughn author of 'Courting Sparks.'



GE - I understand you have exciting news that Courting Sparks has just been published. Please tell me a little about it.

JV - Courting Sparks is about falling in love with your best friend.  Daphne realizes she’s attracted to her best guy friend, Noah, at one of her friend’s weddings and she tries everything she can think of to ignore the attraction. 

Joselyn Vaughn.

GE - What aspect of the book are you most pleased with?

JV - I really like how the story came together.  As I wrote it, pieces just fit together.  And Noah is such a sweetheart; it’s hard not to fall in love with him. Daphne is also a bridesmaid in several weddings, so I got to have a lot of fun with all the bridesmaid duties.

GE - How did you feel when you first learnt that Courting Sparks was to be published?

JV - I was so excited.  It was the second book I had written and the second book I had published.  I think no matter how many books you write, you fear that your editor will hate the next one and this fun adventure you’ve been on will just disappear. So when it does sell, it’s even more exciting. 

I was also pregnant with my youngest daughter and had just crawled in bed for a nap when my editor called.  I just listened to the answering machine then called her back after I finished my nap.  I didn’t really sleep much, but I was too tired to move.

GE - What is the best and the worst thing about writing romance? Do you find some aspects more enjoyable than others?

JV - I love writing romance because of the fairy tale aspect of it.  There’s always a happy ending.  It’s a magic we all yearn for and like to see happen for everyday people.   I think the worst thing for me is finding a large enough chunk of time to concentrate, especially for revisions. When I’m writing the rough drafts, I can just concentrate on the moment and write, but with revisions, I need to keep track of what is happening in the story and who is standing or sitting.  Otherwise I could have someone sit down three times without standing up once.  I once had a character attempt to curl up on a couch that I had removed from the scene while she was balancing a pie in one hand.  My critique group had a lot of laughs over that one.

GE - What would your nearest and dearest say is your most annoying habit?

JV - I tend to be very focused when I’m working on something.  I have a hard time switching gears and doing something spontaneous when I have a routine set. Especially knowing the work that will be required with three kids off their nap schedule.

GE - It’s been lovely chatting with you today Joselyn and before you go, where can I find out more about your books?

JV -
There is more information at my website http://joselynvaughn.com/.

BOOK BLURB.

Dusting off the ashes of a failed relationship, Daphne Morrow decides she is ready to date again. But when her scorched prom photos are discovered to be the ignition point for a small forest blaze, marking her as the prime suspect for the arson, she finds they’re not the only part of her past sparking interest. After a friend’s wedding provides a romantic interlude with her longtime friend Noah Banks, Daphne tries to explain away her attraction to him: the atmosphere of the wedding, his resemblance to her ex, his heroic efforts as a volunteer firefighter. Still, their desire just won’t sputter out.

When the arsonist strikes much closer to home, Daphne fears she must risk Noah’s friendship to find the culprit and clear her name. She’ll know their love is real if his interest isn’t put out by her need to uncover the truth.

Courting Sparks – Excerpt

Noah waved her over. “Want to dance?”

“Sure.” She followed him to the dance floor. He pulled her into his arms and they swayed to the music. She expected the casual comfort she usually felt when Noah touched her.  She didn’t get it. Her nerves sparked like downed power lines. Miranda and Max playfully bumped into them as they spun around the floor.  Miranda grinned at Max like he was her prince.  They kissed.

“It’s the romantically tinged atmosphere of the wedding,” she muttered, as Noah twirled her around and they proceeded to bump Beth and Jake. 

“What was that?” Noah asked.

“You know I’ve danced at weddings in every color.  Purple, blue, yellow, Barbie pink, several times.” She nodded to her dress. “But never white.”

“It’s not a bad thing it didn’t work out with Aaron.”

“I know.  It’s better to know he’s a weasel now rather than be stood up at the altar, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.  At least he could have had the guts to break up with me in person.  Maybe then I wouldn’t be taken in every time he calls. Sorry, I shouldn’t say things like that about your cousin.” She sighed. “But whenever he calls…”

“It reminds you of it all over again,” Noah finished for her.  “You’re the only one he calls anymore.  I think he’s really messed up.”

“He sounds so contrite about cheating on me. About how much he regrets it. I’ve stopped falling for it and I shouldn’t dwell on it.” She shook her head. “What about you?  Do you think you’ll ever get married?”

Noah looked away.  She saw resentment and disappointment cross his face.  “I want to.  But it’s complicated.”

Daphne wanted to ask why but the tight look on his face told her he didn’t want to talk about it. The first beats of the hokey pokey blared from the speakers.  Noah hurriedly steered her off the floor and toward the bar. “Do you have any practical jokes planned for Miranda’s apartment while they’re on their honeymoon?”

The Cat's Meat Man. (part 1 of 2)

THE CATS’ MEAT MAN. 

            Hello and welcome to my first posting of 2011!

            This week I look at how the Victorians fed their pets and the ‘Cat’s Meat Man.’

‘Many visitors came to the streets…the muffin man and Cats’ Meat Man. The latter carried their wares on long skewers over their shoulders. The smell drew all the strays.’  

(A London resident writing in 1920.)

            From the 1700’s until the early 20^th century the ‘Cat’s Meat Man’ was a common sight, hawking meat around the city streets of Britain. Charles Dickens even wrote about how, as a 6 year old child when confined to the house through ill health, he wrote a play called ‘The Cat’s Meat Man.’

           

Indeed the Cats Meat Men had a uniform, as described by the Victorian chronicler of London life, Henry Mayhew. This consisted of a shiny hat, black plush waistcoat, corduroy trousers and a blue apron with a blue and white spotted handkerchief around the neck.

In their heyday around 1,000 Cats’ Meat vendors; men, woman and boys, plied the pet meat trade.  Part of the attraction was the low set up cost to make a relatively lucrative living. A man could set up with a couple of shillings for initial meat supplies, a barrow, knife and scales, all of which could be purchased second hand for between 4 and 15 shillings. They plied their trade with a familiar cry, much like an ice cream van’s tune today, of:

            “Cats’ meat – cats’ meat, on a skewer come and buy.”

(Sung to the tune of ‘Cherry Ripe.’)

Each seller serviced on average 200 cats and 70 dogs and some did extremely well, such as one Mr. Cratchitt. When Mr. Cratchitt’s estranged wife was taken to court for none payment of debts, her husband came to the rescue.

            ‘It’s all right Your Worship…I’ve arranged to pay all her debts. For 30 years I’ve had a cats’ meat round in the City and …so I’m a man of independent means.’

            ‘What,’ cried the magistrate, ‘You’ve made a fortune out of cats’ meat?’

            ‘Yes,’ said Meatman Cractchitt, ‘Funny isn’t it.’

Next week: Part 2 - Jack the Ripper's link to the Cat's Meat Man!!


PS - For a great review of 'A Dead Man's Debt' visit:

http://www.theromancereviews.com/viewbooksreview.php?bookid=960

Review EXCERPT:

If you have any appreciation for historical romance, you will not only enjoy this novel immensely, but will want to make a space for it on your keeper shelf! A Dead Man¡¯s Debt will charm you, surprise you, entertain you...and by the end, will warm your heart with the overall beauty of this story.

Dog and Cat Diaries - A New Year treat!

EXCERPT from a DOG'S DIARY.

8:00 am -      Dog food!  My favourite thing!
9:30 am -      A car ride!  My favourite thing!
9:40 am -      A walk in the park!  My favourite thing!      
10:30 am -     Got rubbed and petted!  My favourite thing!
12:00 pm -     Lunch!  My favourite thing!
1:00 pm -      Played in the yard!  My favourite thing!
3:00 pm -      Wagged my tail!  My favourite thing!
5:00 pm -      Milk bones!  My favourite thing!
7:00 pm -      Got to play ball!  My favourite thing!
8:00 pm -      Wow!  Watched TV with the people!  My favourite thing!
11:00 pm -     Sleeping on the bed!  My favourite thing!

EXCERPT FROM A CAT'S DIARY.

Day 983 of my captivity.
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects.
They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets.  Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.
The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.  In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.
Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet.  I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of.  However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am.  Bastards.
There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight.  I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event.  However, I could hear the noises and smell the food.  I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies".  I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.
Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking.  I must try this again tomorrow - but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches.  The dog receives special privileges.  He is regularly released - and seems to be more than willing to return.  He is obviously retarded.
The bird has got to be an informant.  I observe him communicating with the guards regularly.  I am certain that he reports my every move.  My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe.  For now...

With many thanks to Lisa Gold (photographer.)

Puss in Boots - a new look at the Pantomime story.

Puss in Boots.

The Pantomime season is upon us once more.

 [I digress, but recently I found an American relative by marriage had no idea what a pantomime was. So for those whose culture is sensible and where men don’t dress up as women and shout ‘He’s behind you’ from the stage, a pantomime is a traditional tale given a modern twist, peppered with jokes and songs…and oh yes, men dressed up as women.]

As a child I remember a Christmas treat of being taken to the London Palladian to see ‘Puss in Boots.’ This is a version of the story of a poor boy, Dick Whittington. He heard rumours that London was paved with gold and gathered all his possessions into a spotted handkerchief and, along with his pet cat Puss, went to the city where the cat helped him make his fortune.

‘Dick Whittington had often heard

The curious story told.

That far fam’d London’s brilliant streets

Were paved with sheets of gold.’

But this is more than just a story. There was a real Dick Whittington (1358 – 1423), the youngest son of Sir William Whittington, and he did indeed become Lord Mayor of London three times, as told in the pantomime.

‘Poor Dick ran away,

Four miles he ran, then wearied much,

He sat him on a stone,

And heard the merry bells of Bow

Speak to him in this tone –

Turn agin Whittington,

Thrice Lord Mayor of London.’

So, you might well ask, how did the cat make Dick his fortune?

The story suggestion is that Dick sold poor Puss to the King of Barbary, earning a fortune which he then invested.

‘Meanwhile puss sail’d across the seas,

Unto the Moorish Court,

And to the palace of the King,

The merchant Pussy brought.

For that poor King no rest enjoy’d

All through the rats and mice,

They swept the food from off his board –

Puss killed them in a trice.’

This may not be as far fetched as it seems because there was a regular trade in good British mousing cats, sent to foreign climes to free them of vermin. For example, an advertisement in 1857 offers to buy  live cats to export to New Zealand…and of course not forgetting the generous export of a ship load of cats to St Helena, to free Napoleon (who was terrified of cats!) from a plague of rats.

‘The King gave him heaps of gold,

For an animal so rare.’

But a more likely explanation is that the ‘Cats’ referred to in the Whittington story were a type of sailing vessel designed for shipping coal. These ‘Cats’ plyed a profitable trade and it is highly likely that Dick Whittington earned his wealth from some canny investments in the shipping trade transporting coal!

‘For Whittington was thrice Lord Major

In great King Henry’s reign.’

Cat pies? -Victorian attitudes to cats.

Would it surprise you to learn that in Victorian times, if you were well off and owned a cat you were liable to

 be called eccentric? This was because although cats were widely kept, it was by the poorer working

 classes who needed them to keep down the vermin population in rodent infested lodgings. An RSPCA

report from the 1857 notes that:

‘…almost every [working class] household has a cat.’

            Indeed for a Victorian to own a cat was tantamount to advertising their impoverished circumstances, as illustrated by Dick Whittington. In the story the future Lord Mayor’s companion was a cat, something the audience would have immediately understood as showing that Dick was a humble man from a poor background.

            In his 19^th century ‘Survey of London Life’ Booth observes that a householder’s income was reflected by the condition of his cat.

‘People are poor indeed whose cats look starved. I have seen the Cats’ Meat Man on his round in a very poor street and no less than a dozen cats were strolling around with tails confidently raised, awaiting their turns.’

In such times, cats were generally not pampered like today’s animals, far from it they were often cruelly abused. Alfred Rosling wrote in the 1850’s:

‘No boy…would dream of passing a cat without throwing [a stone] at it.’

But perhaps these poor animals were lucky just being stoned since there was a recognised problem with traders who trapped cats for their pelts.

            Victorian times were perilous for cats since it wasn’t just their skins that were in demand, it was also their meat. In Charles Dickens’ novel the Pickwick Papers, Sam Weller discusses ‘Cat Pies’ with Mr Pickwick:

I [Sam Weller] lodged in the same house vith a pieman once…make pies out o’anything, he could. ‘What a number o’cats you keep, Mr Brooks,’ says I ‘You must be very fond of cats’ says I.

‘Other people is,’ says he a-winkin’ at me…and vispering in my ear, ‘don’t mention this agin…but it’s

 the seasonin’ as does it,’ says he, a-pointin’ to a wery nice little tabby kitten, ‘and I seasons ‘em for

beefsteak, weal or kidney, ‘cording to the demand.’