Wild Kitten

The photo for todays post is taken of one of three wild kittens that have adopted our family. They don’t really like us petting them or picking them up but they really love us feeding them. We have named them Macavity, Griddlebone and Mungojerrie after the poem ‘Macavity: The Mystery Cat’ by T.S. Elliot. I will paste the poem at the bottom of this post incase you care to read it.

I have finished taking photos on my Granddad’s old camera (I mentioned in the post ‘More of Where I Live’ that I was finishing a film that was in a camera of my Granddad’s) so now I just have to wait for it to be developed and then I can check out what was on there. Unfortunately I took 22 photos of the 24 photo film and, before I started, my brother opened the camera, so if Granddad had taken any photos they probably got ruined. Nevertheless it will still be exciting to get the photos as I can hardly remember what I took with it now.

Mungo
Macavity: The Mystery Cat
Macavity’s a Mystery Cat: he’s called the Hidden Paw-
For he’s the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He’s the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad’s despair:
For when they reach the scene of the crime – Macavity’s not there!
Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,
He’s broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
And when you reach the scene of the crime – Macavity’s not there!
You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air –
But I tell you once and once again, Macavity’s not there!
Macavity is a ginger cat, he’s very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
And when you think he’s half asleep, he’s always wide awake.
Macavity, Macavity there’s no one like Macavity,
For he’s a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square-
But when a crime’s discovered, then Macavity’s not there!
He’s outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard’s.
And when the larder’s looted, or the jewel case is rifled,
Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke’s been stifled,
Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair –
Ay, there’s the wonder of the thing! Macavity’s not there!
And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty’s gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair –
But it’s useless to investigate – Macavity’s not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
“It must have been Macavity!” – but he’s a mile away.
You’ll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,
Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.
Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,
There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare:
At whatever time the deed took place – Macavity wasn’t there!
And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more that agents for the Cat who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime.
 – T. S. Eliot
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