FEMININE REFLECTIONS

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 217, 2 December 1927, Page 5

FEMININE REFLECTIONS

Mundane Musings

The Cat in the Home Someone reminded me the other day that I hadn't talked for ages about cats of any sort. “It isn’t,” she said, “as if you hadn’t got a perfectly good cat of your own, belonging to you.” “Ah!” I said. “But is he a perfectly good eat, and does he belong to me?” “Well, you ought to know,” she replied. “Perhaps I ought. But I don't. A cat never lets you into his secret mind. lie may be a perfectly good cat, or he may be a shockingly bad eat; you will have no means of “Now Horatio, my dog, has his less honourable moments, like the rest of us; but his sense of guilt afterwards will be patent to everyone in his neighbourhood. You have only to see Horatio’s uncomfortable expression, as he sits with attempted innocence on the doorstep and gazes at the scenery, to know that he has been lying on the spare bed again, and has left hairs on the eiderdown. “Horatio can no more conceal the assaults of conscience than he can conceal the markings of his right ear. But Yan, the cat, will lap up the milk you left on the kitchen table and then come and seat himself blandly at your feet; and there will be nothing whatever in his inscrutable expression to give him away.” The peculiar indirectness of the catnature has been commented on, in different terms, by many observers. Probably it is the cat’s instinctive dislike of the obvious, the straightforward, the simple, that has in times past caused him to be associated with the powers of mystery and darkness. In ancient Egypt he was connected with necromancy; and no mediaeval witch would have considered herself fully dressed unless she had a cat seated on the broomstick beside her. The secretiveness, the subtlety and the self-sufficiency of the cat are embodied in that ‘ supremely best of the “Just So Stories.” ‘The cat that walked by himself.” But I doubt if the cat mind is really so “wrapt in mystery” as we think. It is a legend, a rather picturesque legend, that has grown up about it, like the legend about the mystery of Woman, harped on by romantic novelists whose stock of ideas is temporarily low. The cat is probably no more mysterious than the woman; but, like the latter. it gives an illusion of mystery in that its mind works deviously rather than directly, and has an instinctive

I tendency to hide rather than to reveal its immediate sensations; and. like the woman, it dislikes intensely to ! do what it’s told. | Yan, my cat, is typically cat in all these respects. He is a large, black, handsome creature with a white shirtfront, which he keeps commendably clean and starched. Like all cats, he is fastidious in his personal habits; you will never see him, even first thing in the morning, looking untidy or illgroomed, as though he had come down in a hurry to breakfast. He is very courteous, very suave, and his manners are beautiful; but what he really thinks of me I haven’t the ghost of an idea. He will come and cuddle into my lap, of course, w r hen I am sitting by the fire, and when I stroke him he will rub his head against my hand and purr. But he will cuddle into anyone else’s lap just as happily, and when the hand of another strokes him he will rub his head against that hand, too, and purr. I# have seen him sit in Mrs. Grim jaw’s lap, when she called one afternoon for a servant’s reference; and anyone who could enjoy sitting in Mrs. Grim jaw’s lap must be either above paltry personal feelings of completely without discrimination. I made him a bed, when he first came, on an armchair in the kitchen. I got a cushion for him, and told him he could have it for his own. He thanked me gracefully, and when I went into the kitchen five minutes later for some matches I found him curled up in a chair the other side of the room. Thinking he might just as well have that as the other, as he seemed to like it, I arranged his cushion on that one instead; and when I went into the kitchen live minutes later for a candle, I found him curled up in the armchair I had originally prepared for him. I realised then that I had a new and intricate mind to deal with, a mind that disliked plain, logical action, that hated to act according to plan, that would always choose its own orbit: a mind that rebelled instinctively against the verdicts of another, even when those verdicts ministered to the comfort of the body associated with it. • • • Is it, I wonder, this indirectness that is at the root of the cat’s cruelty to birds and mice? I like to think that it is; I try not to believe that the cat enjoys cruelty for its own sake. To kill the poor little beastie outright would be too obvious, too straightforward for the cat; he must introduce craft, circumlocution, subtlety into what would otherwise be too simple an act. And as to belonging to me ... in the sense that he allows me to house him and feed him, and share my fire and my lap with him, I suppose the outer cat at least may be said to belong to me. But—the inner cat? I have a feeling that the inner cat is too secretive, too self-contained, too wrapped up in the contemplation of its ow r n ego, ever to do anything so sympathetic as belonging. The inner cat belongs to no one—except the inner cat.

GIFT EVENING A jolly “gift evening” was held in the Birkenhead and Northcote Tennis Club pavilion last evening, at which Miss Kathleen Jacks, of Northcote, who is shortly to be married, was the guest of honour. The evening was spent in dancing *and competitions. Much amusement was caused by the opening of the numerous “gifts,” and an hilarious feature was a set of kitchen lancers. Some delightful songs were given by Mrs. Blake, Mrs. Harris and Miss Jacks. Mrs. Harris, Mrs. Cadness and Miss Heath officiated at the piano. Miss Jacks made a charming little speech of thanks. Miss Jacks wore a cinnamon brown georgette model, with skirt and sleeves featuring appliqued motifs of cinnamon ribbon braid and gold thread. Those present included: Mrs. Harris, gown of maize georgette with two-tiered petailed skirt. Mrs. Weaver, jade green georgette gown, relieved w r ith beige crepe de chine and ecru lace. Mrs. Smallfield, eau de nil crepe de chine frock, patterned in bois de rose. Mrs. Blake, frock of floral ninon in cherry and ivory tones, with relief of black. Mrs. Tyer, figured spun silk model of cream and ciel blue. Mrs. Gray, dainty gown of rose beige georgette, with embroidered relief of rose and jade. Mrs. A. Christmas, navy crepe de chine gown. Mrs. Cadness, spun silk gown of ivory, smartly trimmed with bands of rose and Air Force blue. Mrs. P. Cross, dainty frock of apricot georgette. Mrs. R. Cadness, ivory crepe de chine frock, with relief of cherry colour. Miss M. Heath, model of black crepe de chine. Miss R. Major, gown of figured crepe de chine, relieved with beige and navy. Miss O. Maxwell, floral ninon frock of duchess blue and ivory tones, the skirt featuring two tiers of knife pleating. Miss C. Cadness, coral and pervenche blue patterned crepe de chine gown. Miss D. Wrightson, gown of henna knit silk, with hem-line strikingly motifed in two shades of sage green. Miss M. Newman, coral pink ninon frock daintily patterned in ivory. Miss F. Jones, daffodil yellow crepe de chine frock, featuring French pleating. Miss P. Newman, navy crepe de chine gown, with relief of jade. Miss G. Smith, frock of figured marocain in Nile green, chrome and bois de rose shades. Miss J. Wcrnham, Ciel blue model, Swiss embroidered in coral pink. Miss L. Taylor, spun silk frock of blush rose. Miss O. Brazier, duchess blue crepe de chine gown, with ivory relief. Miss N. Johnston, floral geoi*gette of Wedgewood blue and cherry, trimmed with ecru lace. Miss N. Chambers, lavender-tinted gown of figured ninon. Miss J. Robertson, apple green silk voile, with salmon pink and white relief. Miss N. Robertson, frock of gendarme blue patterned georgette. Miss J. Johnston, rose nude crepe de chine frock, with lace to tone.