Although I fully support the concept of small presses with idiosyncratic mission statements, like the Notting Hill Press attempting to revive essays, the concept, it’s hard to ‘grade’ this collection. I’m preternaturally predisposed to be in favour of anything Regarding Cats, but there are limits. I did not like the dude who kicked his pet cats, and I always find Tove Janssen a bit cold.
Some of these ‘essays’ are exceedingly short, a one-hand number of paragraphs sliced off from a larger work … many of which, like those by Doris Lessing (also, bold to steal her title!), Lewis Carroll, and James Bowen, I have already read. Because, Regarding Cats. I was also significantly unimpressed with Auden’s translation of ‘Pangur Bán’ – not that Seamus Heaney’s is much better, but the ultimate has to be Robin Flower’s, which has the added benefit of using the Irish title, jeez, imperialism much, Auden?
However, I did like some ‘essays’ greatly. My mother found me in tears over Caitlin Moran’s ‘A Death in the Family’, and was most disgruntled to realise my distress was over a long-dead cat belonging to a stranger. But that’s cat people for you.
Lynn Truss:
‘Having a cat, I find, makes you susceptible to this line of reasoning – perhaps because it is your only direct line of consolation. ‘I wonder if he loves me.’ you think [...] ‘Well, of course he does. I mean, he’s here, isn’t he?’’
On the Death of a Cat, a Friend of Mine, Aged Ten Years and a Half, Christina Rossetti
‘And whoever passes by
The poor grave where Puss doth lie,
Softly, softly let him tread,
Nor disturb her narrow bed.’
Rebecca West:
‘He was physically frivolous, a ball of orange fluff with topaz eyes, he might have been the sort of Christmas present the more expensive stores in New York think up, and have a bottle of scent inside him; yet he was a serious-minded cat.’
‘The price I paid was enormous but I got full value for it.’
Nikola Tesla:
‘I was thinking abstractedly. Is Nature a gigantic cat? If so, who strokes its back? It can only be God, I concluded.’
Alice Walker:
‘Frida made herself the exception. She was an exceedingly garrulous cat. She set out every morning to tell me the latest installment of her sad, heartrending tale, six or seven lives long, and she chatted steadily for an hour or so. When I was thoroughly rattled, she stopped, went upstairs, and took a nap. This was our entirely inauspicious beginning.’