Notes From Cat History
It's after midnight, it's Friday, and you know what that means.
Notes From Cat History: Niccolo and Giulian
As kittens, the twins Niccolo (on the left) and Giulian dei Liberi exhibited an uncanny understanding of human nature. Here they are at only one week of age, sent by bosscat 2x4 Jones to "reason with" one of the many young people who owed him money in connection with the notorious -- and ongoing -- Kittenwar ring.
Typically, by means of threats too vile to mention here, 2x4 Jones convinced his marks to pay the balance in full before the matter became something he could no longer ignore. Other times, he sent Niccolo and Giulian to talk some sense into those foolish enough to refuse to pay their bets.
Here we see the results of a successful overnight negotiation, conducted with much cuddling and rattletrap purrs. The woman, Ms. Elmyra Short, an ordinary housewife of Temptation, California, gestures the brothers back as she reaches for her checkbook, unable to take any more. Kept awake all night by their cuteness, and prevented from rising until daylight for fear of crushing them, Ms. Short paid her debt of $210.50, as well as the title to the new Honda Accord which she had bet on Nigel "Kittenface" Crumplehorn, crowd favorite and sore loser of the Crumplehorn - Bragg match of 2003.
At other times, the twins' gentle reason failed, and other victims were not so lucky as Ms. Short, who escaped with only a tremor in her right arm and a tendency to stutter when stressed. When required, the twins did not balk at uttering their trademark piercing, pathetic shrieks. This, in combination with the dreaded "uncertain wobble" maneuver and the "blind stagger of the completely lost" was usually enough to send even the most hardened reprobate straight into the fetal position. Even the toughest case never held up under the "starfish paws and shirt-nursing" line of questioning. It is whispered that some even died of it.
The underlying message, of course, was that in the paws of 2x4 Jones, all humans will become as helpless as the tiny dei Liberi twins. Which, of course, they were.
As they matured, the twins sadly lost their negotiating edge and were replaced by their cousin "Creampuff" Molly Blye, whose faded calico coat became her trademark.
In these latter days of his stranglehold on cat crime, 2x4 still uses the twins extensively. Now weighing in at a combined 36.8 pounds, the once-tiny kittens have become most respected bouncers in their own right. Niccolo and Giulian are now doorcats at the exclusive Chantilly Rose club, and their "reasoning" has taken on a decidedly un-cuddly edge.
It behooves all humans to remember that at one time, all dangerous Cats of Quality were once tiny, helpless kittens no bigger than the twins, here.
Pay your debts promptly, or 2x4 Jones will come to collect.
Notes From Cat History: The Singing Cats of Professor Washbeetle
The key, Professor Washbeetle discovered, was to play the records continually right up until the kittens were weaned. This enabled him to select the most musically inclined cats for his breeding program.
The year was 1932. Moreschi, the last castrato, had made his famous recording with the Sistine Chapel Chorus some thirty years before. Some said the golden age of opera was long past, others that it was in full glory. Others projected a glorious future yet to come.
Washbeetle was among these last. His girlfriend was famed Louisiana soprano Shade Solitaire, and together they wished nothing more than to contribute something lasting to this artful and dignified form.
And what better way than with the most artful and dignified of animals?
Washbeetle started with Solitaire's own cat, "Black" Jack Cotton, an otherwise unremarkable alley cat who often joined his mistress in song. He gathered a stable of queens with perfect pitch, bred Jack to them, and using recordings of Solitaire's voice, selected those kittens who showed the most aptitude for mimicry.
Over the course of seven feline generations, he had bred a small group of cats who could sing like veritable canaries. In all other ways catlike, these fifteen animals were perfect opera divas, combining the cat's natural aloof grace with the opera star's sense of entitlement and simultaneous desire for and disgust with attention. Together, they formed a small choir of beasts whose voices were ". . . like nothing heard in Heaven or Hell, divine and yet terrifying, profound and powerful, a sound so otherworldly that it beggars the imagination." They mastered several choral works and performed regularly in Washbeetle's hometown of Salem, Massachusetts.
Sadly, they were never successful on the stage. The cat's natural apathy prevented them from performing with any regularity. As pets they were even more miserable failures. The inherent feline perversity led them to sing at inappropriate hours, and several cats learned the most unbecoming ditties from the sailors of the Salem docks, which Washbeetle was never able to stop them visiting. Intact queens were the worst. One notable scion, named Vendetta the Bold, warbled Civil War hymns for 76 solid hours until imprisoned in a wicker basket and threatened with a drowning.
At last, the whole glorious experiment was pronounced an interesting failure, and consigned to the footnotes of musical history. The cats were all altered, which curbed their singing considerably, and placed in comfortable homes.
A small breeding group survived with the family of Herodotus Black, occult scholar and opera fancier of Salem's postwar years, and it is from these three cats that the depicted cat, Salome Mehitabel Black, descended. Here she is in full song, belting out the Queen of the Night's aria from The Magic Flute.
Private audiences can be arranged by contacting Herodotus Black's son, Mr. Hieronymous Black, care of the Salem Institute of Esoteric and Metaphysical Studies, where he is a teacher of Spiritism and Migration of Essences.
Mr. Black does not, of course, guarantee that Salome will perform. She is, after all, a cat.
Notes From Cat History: Vogelsache #9
Ruritania has spawned a number of Cats of Quality, as well as a number of remarkable scientists. The Ruritanian baron Otto von Tarlenheim was one such scientist. After his his second journey to the moon, immortalized forever in Groebbeling's moving operetta "Ihre ganze Unterseite sind gehören uns," he conducted little-known experiments with anti-gravity cats. His experiences with the Lunarians and their terrible battle-kites had filled him with a sort of holy dread, which he sought to offset by turning the technology to the public good. He imagined a combination pet and toy, a kitten-kite that could independently follow a laughing child through sunlit gardens. And it was in pursuit of this lofty goal that von Tarlenheim spent hours locked in his dank research lab.
His first experiments at cat levitation used helium, and proved both disastrous to the kittens and troubling to the conscience. They also prompted the baron to move his experiments out-of-doors where messes would occasion less fuss and bother. Later refinements utilized the same Marsstrahl propulsion beam that powered his famous ether ship on its return journey to Earth.
This picture reconstructs the moment when Vogelsache #9 first lifted from the ground under the power of the infusions of the Marsstrahl. It is probably for the best that the fates of Vogelsachen #1- #9 are not recorded. As this ninth kitten floated gently toward the ceiling, von Tarlenheim exclaimed in amazement. "Heilige Scheiße! Diese Katze fliegt wirklich!" These words remain engraved upon his monument at Zenda, and because of the monument's location (outside the baron's favorite tavern) they have become the traditional Ruritanian toast between friends on happy occasions.
Further experiments refined the vertical levitation, and lateral motion was stabilized by the addition of a second tail to the design. The first outdoor experiment quickly showed von Tarlenheim that a string was necessary to tether the cat, as Vogelsache #9 showed no inclination to follow her master docilely, but rather dove straight at the Lady Cottingsley's feathered hat.
The first mass experiment was carried out using six Marsstrahl-infused kittens tethered to lengths of fine wire. Winds were high that day, and the air was damp and unpleasant, but von Tarlenheim was delighted to see that his subjects retained both vertical and lateral stability despite the breeze. He had just speculated to his companion about the possibility of training them to fly in formation like geese, when a bolt of lightning struck the kitten-cloud. The baron was holding the joined wires.
The year was 1749. Otto von Tarlenheim would surely have been credited with the discovery of electricity, had he survived. As it was, all that remained were a few shreds of blackened clothing and his charred tongue. The honor of that discovery was credited to his companion Benjamin Franklin a few years later, in an experiment that surely owes much to von Tarlenheim's work.
The kittens, transformed in some way by the Marsstrahl, remained unharmed, and drifted in a mass over the mountains. They were last sighted over London, moving out to sea. It is hoped that they came to land, but history, alas, does not give us the fate of Vogelsache #9 and her comrades. It is likely that it is an unhappy one.
Like brave Laika, they must remain enshrined in human memory as animals who have valiantly and unwillingly given their lives for the advancement of human science.
Notes From Cat History: Dr. Shelby's Catbots
At first glance, there appears to be nothing extraordinary about these two cats, a tortoiseshell-and-white and a particolored brown tabby. They appear to be normal cats, unless one knows the story of the diabolical Dr. Shelby.
Many decades ago, Dr. Shelby conducted experiments into human mind control through use of a device originally invented to control and direct the Northern Lights. Meant to bring more psychedelic color to the aurora borealis, the Electrohelical Osmometric Paraoscillator was never a full success. The atmospheric effects were isolated and disturbing. It was tabled until Dr. Shelby revised it for short-range human use. She discovered that with a powerful mind behind it, its subtle influence was virtually unlimited.
The insidious Dr. Shelby ruled for two decades, ruthlessly employing the device in an attempt to control the whole of human society through popular culture. Lasting throughout the sixties and seventies, her tenure as pop-culture dictator is remembered as a reign of terror, a wasteland of fashion and taste. Yet the era came with many notable social advances, and so it is impossible to dismiss her as yet another maniacal tyrant.
Nevertheless, the superheroine Pussycat O'Rourke, scarred in her youth by thick-rib corduroy and gold velour, avenged the wrongs and defeated Dr. Shelby in the early '80s. The E.O.P. was deigned too dangerous to leave around, and too potentially valuable to destroy, and so it was split into two toaster-sized halves, and each half was crammed into one of Pussycat's catbots. Slowly the world returned to sanity, and the horrors of the past were mercifully almost forgotten.
When united, as shown here (note the green light of the aurora shining forth from their eyes), their combined powers are sufficient to control the mind of any nearby human. These pint-sized dictators fortunately desire nothing more than belly-rubs and food, and while they are keeping an ever-vigilant eye on the E.O.P, we can remain certain that the world will never again endure a cultural wasteland like that which prevailed under Dr. Shelby's reign.
Should these cats fall into the wrong hands, however, it is possible that another taste vortex could develop, a possibility that remains dire to those bent on preventing another Woodstock.
Notes From Cat History: The Siamese Cats of Lady Dire
When detailing the unusual stories of the many cats who have inhabited the prestigious Artemis Academy, one is inevitably forced to consider the Siamese Cats of Lady Dire.
In 1998, Lady Diamanda Dire demonstrated the teleportation of living objects on the classroom cat, Dr. Malthus Fell, only to belatedly realize that one of the wandering groundskittens, Flick the Red Rosy, had taken shelter inside the box into which Lady Dire was going to teleport Dr. Fell.
The end result was a horrible chimera, a two-bodied beast that so unnerved the Adepts present that several had to be escorted to the nurse's ward.
Amazingly, Neither Dr. Fell nor Flick were killed by the unfortunate accident, but Lady Dire knew better than to attempt a separation. The cats were left as they were, but Flick's playful nature grated on Dr. Fell's naturally sanguine temper until they squabbled nearly constantly. Professional intervention -- and reintegration -- was called for. The conjoined cats managed to survive for several weeks until iatrothaumaturge Gideon Law finished his sojourn in Crete and returned to correct the condition.
This photo was taken some days after the initial incident, when Dr. Fell's patience had quite run out. Flick never tired of having an attached playmate, and seemed throughout to regard her "other half" as a source of great amusement.
Both cats are now separate entities, but have become a mated pair and are still joined at the hip, as it were.
***
And now you know more than you did but a moment ago. Fare thee well.
Notes From Cat History: Niccolo and Giulian
As kittens, the twins Niccolo (on the left) and Giulian dei Liberi exhibited an uncanny understanding of human nature. Here they are at only one week of age, sent by bosscat 2x4 Jones to "reason with" one of the many young people who owed him money in connection with the notorious -- and ongoing -- Kittenwar ring.
Typically, by means of threats too vile to mention here, 2x4 Jones convinced his marks to pay the balance in full before the matter became something he could no longer ignore. Other times, he sent Niccolo and Giulian to talk some sense into those foolish enough to refuse to pay their bets.
Here we see the results of a successful overnight negotiation, conducted with much cuddling and rattletrap purrs. The woman, Ms. Elmyra Short, an ordinary housewife of Temptation, California, gestures the brothers back as she reaches for her checkbook, unable to take any more. Kept awake all night by their cuteness, and prevented from rising until daylight for fear of crushing them, Ms. Short paid her debt of $210.50, as well as the title to the new Honda Accord which she had bet on Nigel "Kittenface" Crumplehorn, crowd favorite and sore loser of the Crumplehorn - Bragg match of 2003.
At other times, the twins' gentle reason failed, and other victims were not so lucky as Ms. Short, who escaped with only a tremor in her right arm and a tendency to stutter when stressed. When required, the twins did not balk at uttering their trademark piercing, pathetic shrieks. This, in combination with the dreaded "uncertain wobble" maneuver and the "blind stagger of the completely lost" was usually enough to send even the most hardened reprobate straight into the fetal position. Even the toughest case never held up under the "starfish paws and shirt-nursing" line of questioning. It is whispered that some even died of it.
The underlying message, of course, was that in the paws of 2x4 Jones, all humans will become as helpless as the tiny dei Liberi twins. Which, of course, they were.
As they matured, the twins sadly lost their negotiating edge and were replaced by their cousin "Creampuff" Molly Blye, whose faded calico coat became her trademark.
In these latter days of his stranglehold on cat crime, 2x4 still uses the twins extensively. Now weighing in at a combined 36.8 pounds, the once-tiny kittens have become most respected bouncers in their own right. Niccolo and Giulian are now doorcats at the exclusive Chantilly Rose club, and their "reasoning" has taken on a decidedly un-cuddly edge.
It behooves all humans to remember that at one time, all dangerous Cats of Quality were once tiny, helpless kittens no bigger than the twins, here.
Pay your debts promptly, or 2x4 Jones will come to collect.
Notes From Cat History: The Singing Cats of Professor Washbeetle
The key, Professor Washbeetle discovered, was to play the records continually right up until the kittens were weaned. This enabled him to select the most musically inclined cats for his breeding program.
The year was 1932. Moreschi, the last castrato, had made his famous recording with the Sistine Chapel Chorus some thirty years before. Some said the golden age of opera was long past, others that it was in full glory. Others projected a glorious future yet to come.
Washbeetle was among these last. His girlfriend was famed Louisiana soprano Shade Solitaire, and together they wished nothing more than to contribute something lasting to this artful and dignified form.
And what better way than with the most artful and dignified of animals?
Washbeetle started with Solitaire's own cat, "Black" Jack Cotton, an otherwise unremarkable alley cat who often joined his mistress in song. He gathered a stable of queens with perfect pitch, bred Jack to them, and using recordings of Solitaire's voice, selected those kittens who showed the most aptitude for mimicry.
Over the course of seven feline generations, he had bred a small group of cats who could sing like veritable canaries. In all other ways catlike, these fifteen animals were perfect opera divas, combining the cat's natural aloof grace with the opera star's sense of entitlement and simultaneous desire for and disgust with attention. Together, they formed a small choir of beasts whose voices were ". . . like nothing heard in Heaven or Hell, divine and yet terrifying, profound and powerful, a sound so otherworldly that it beggars the imagination." They mastered several choral works and performed regularly in Washbeetle's hometown of Salem, Massachusetts.
Sadly, they were never successful on the stage. The cat's natural apathy prevented them from performing with any regularity. As pets they were even more miserable failures. The inherent feline perversity led them to sing at inappropriate hours, and several cats learned the most unbecoming ditties from the sailors of the Salem docks, which Washbeetle was never able to stop them visiting. Intact queens were the worst. One notable scion, named Vendetta the Bold, warbled Civil War hymns for 76 solid hours until imprisoned in a wicker basket and threatened with a drowning.
At last, the whole glorious experiment was pronounced an interesting failure, and consigned to the footnotes of musical history. The cats were all altered, which curbed their singing considerably, and placed in comfortable homes.
A small breeding group survived with the family of Herodotus Black, occult scholar and opera fancier of Salem's postwar years, and it is from these three cats that the depicted cat, Salome Mehitabel Black, descended. Here she is in full song, belting out the Queen of the Night's aria from The Magic Flute.
Private audiences can be arranged by contacting Herodotus Black's son, Mr. Hieronymous Black, care of the Salem Institute of Esoteric and Metaphysical Studies, where he is a teacher of Spiritism and Migration of Essences.
Mr. Black does not, of course, guarantee that Salome will perform. She is, after all, a cat.
Notes From Cat History: Vogelsache #9
Ruritania has spawned a number of Cats of Quality, as well as a number of remarkable scientists. The Ruritanian baron Otto von Tarlenheim was one such scientist. After his his second journey to the moon, immortalized forever in Groebbeling's moving operetta "Ihre ganze Unterseite sind gehören uns," he conducted little-known experiments with anti-gravity cats. His experiences with the Lunarians and their terrible battle-kites had filled him with a sort of holy dread, which he sought to offset by turning the technology to the public good. He imagined a combination pet and toy, a kitten-kite that could independently follow a laughing child through sunlit gardens. And it was in pursuit of this lofty goal that von Tarlenheim spent hours locked in his dank research lab.
His first experiments at cat levitation used helium, and proved both disastrous to the kittens and troubling to the conscience. They also prompted the baron to move his experiments out-of-doors where messes would occasion less fuss and bother. Later refinements utilized the same Marsstrahl propulsion beam that powered his famous ether ship on its return journey to Earth.
This picture reconstructs the moment when Vogelsache #9 first lifted from the ground under the power of the infusions of the Marsstrahl. It is probably for the best that the fates of Vogelsachen #1- #9 are not recorded. As this ninth kitten floated gently toward the ceiling, von Tarlenheim exclaimed in amazement. "Heilige Scheiße! Diese Katze fliegt wirklich!" These words remain engraved upon his monument at Zenda, and because of the monument's location (outside the baron's favorite tavern) they have become the traditional Ruritanian toast between friends on happy occasions.
Further experiments refined the vertical levitation, and lateral motion was stabilized by the addition of a second tail to the design. The first outdoor experiment quickly showed von Tarlenheim that a string was necessary to tether the cat, as Vogelsache #9 showed no inclination to follow her master docilely, but rather dove straight at the Lady Cottingsley's feathered hat.
The first mass experiment was carried out using six Marsstrahl-infused kittens tethered to lengths of fine wire. Winds were high that day, and the air was damp and unpleasant, but von Tarlenheim was delighted to see that his subjects retained both vertical and lateral stability despite the breeze. He had just speculated to his companion about the possibility of training them to fly in formation like geese, when a bolt of lightning struck the kitten-cloud. The baron was holding the joined wires.
The year was 1749. Otto von Tarlenheim would surely have been credited with the discovery of electricity, had he survived. As it was, all that remained were a few shreds of blackened clothing and his charred tongue. The honor of that discovery was credited to his companion Benjamin Franklin a few years later, in an experiment that surely owes much to von Tarlenheim's work.
The kittens, transformed in some way by the Marsstrahl, remained unharmed, and drifted in a mass over the mountains. They were last sighted over London, moving out to sea. It is hoped that they came to land, but history, alas, does not give us the fate of Vogelsache #9 and her comrades. It is likely that it is an unhappy one.
Like brave Laika, they must remain enshrined in human memory as animals who have valiantly and unwillingly given their lives for the advancement of human science.
Notes From Cat History: Dr. Shelby's Catbots
At first glance, there appears to be nothing extraordinary about these two cats, a tortoiseshell-and-white and a particolored brown tabby. They appear to be normal cats, unless one knows the story of the diabolical Dr. Shelby.
Many decades ago, Dr. Shelby conducted experiments into human mind control through use of a device originally invented to control and direct the Northern Lights. Meant to bring more psychedelic color to the aurora borealis, the Electrohelical Osmometric Paraoscillator was never a full success. The atmospheric effects were isolated and disturbing. It was tabled until Dr. Shelby revised it for short-range human use. She discovered that with a powerful mind behind it, its subtle influence was virtually unlimited.
The insidious Dr. Shelby ruled for two decades, ruthlessly employing the device in an attempt to control the whole of human society through popular culture. Lasting throughout the sixties and seventies, her tenure as pop-culture dictator is remembered as a reign of terror, a wasteland of fashion and taste. Yet the era came with many notable social advances, and so it is impossible to dismiss her as yet another maniacal tyrant.
Nevertheless, the superheroine Pussycat O'Rourke, scarred in her youth by thick-rib corduroy and gold velour, avenged the wrongs and defeated Dr. Shelby in the early '80s. The E.O.P. was deigned too dangerous to leave around, and too potentially valuable to destroy, and so it was split into two toaster-sized halves, and each half was crammed into one of Pussycat's catbots. Slowly the world returned to sanity, and the horrors of the past were mercifully almost forgotten.
When united, as shown here (note the green light of the aurora shining forth from their eyes), their combined powers are sufficient to control the mind of any nearby human. These pint-sized dictators fortunately desire nothing more than belly-rubs and food, and while they are keeping an ever-vigilant eye on the E.O.P, we can remain certain that the world will never again endure a cultural wasteland like that which prevailed under Dr. Shelby's reign.
Should these cats fall into the wrong hands, however, it is possible that another taste vortex could develop, a possibility that remains dire to those bent on preventing another Woodstock.
Notes From Cat History: The Siamese Cats of Lady Dire
When detailing the unusual stories of the many cats who have inhabited the prestigious Artemis Academy, one is inevitably forced to consider the Siamese Cats of Lady Dire.
In 1998, Lady Diamanda Dire demonstrated the teleportation of living objects on the classroom cat, Dr. Malthus Fell, only to belatedly realize that one of the wandering groundskittens, Flick the Red Rosy, had taken shelter inside the box into which Lady Dire was going to teleport Dr. Fell.
The end result was a horrible chimera, a two-bodied beast that so unnerved the Adepts present that several had to be escorted to the nurse's ward.
Amazingly, Neither Dr. Fell nor Flick were killed by the unfortunate accident, but Lady Dire knew better than to attempt a separation. The cats were left as they were, but Flick's playful nature grated on Dr. Fell's naturally sanguine temper until they squabbled nearly constantly. Professional intervention -- and reintegration -- was called for. The conjoined cats managed to survive for several weeks until iatrothaumaturge Gideon Law finished his sojourn in Crete and returned to correct the condition.
This photo was taken some days after the initial incident, when Dr. Fell's patience had quite run out. Flick never tired of having an attached playmate, and seemed throughout to regard her "other half" as a source of great amusement.
Both cats are now separate entities, but have become a mated pair and are still joined at the hip, as it were.
***
And now you know more than you did but a moment ago. Fare thee well.