Three Poems About Cats (No Music)

Although T S Eliot was one of the heavyweight poets of the 20th century, he also wrote some delightful and hilarious poems about cats. He owned many cats during his lifetime and his love of them shines through in these carefully observed verses.

Transcript

Hello, It's Mandy here. Thanks ever so much for joining me for tonight's reading. I'm going to be reading three poems by the well-known 20th century poet T. S. Eliot, Who was one of the greatest poets of that century and who also wrote some very funny poems, Quite a few of them about cats and it's three of those that you're going to be listening to tonight. But before we start, Please feel free to make yourself really comfortable. Have a last minute shuffle down into the surface that you're sitting or lying on and make any of those little last minute adjustments that you might need to. Okay, Then I'll begin. 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 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 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's 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 Yards. And when the larder's looted, Or the jewel case is rifled, Or when the milk is missing, Or another peak's been stifled, Or the greenhouse glass is broken, And the trellis past repair, Aye, 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 thumb, Or engaged in doing complicated 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 Mungo Jerry, I might mention Griddlebone, Are nothing more than agents for the cat who all the time just controls their operations, The Napoleon of Crime. This next poem is called Skimble Shanks, The Railway Cat. There's a whisper down the line at 11. 39 when the night mail's ready to depart, Saying, Skimble, Where is Skimble? Has he gone to hunt the thimble? We must find him or the train can't start. All the guards and all the porters and the station master's daughters, They are searching high and low, Saying, Skimble, Where is Skimble? For unless he's very nimble, Then the night mail just can't go. At 11. 42, The signal's nearly due and the passengers are frantic to a man. Then Skimble will appear and he'll saunter to the rear. He's been busy in the luggage van. He gives one flash of his glass green eyes and the signal goes, All clear, And we're off at last for the northern part of the Northern Hemisphere. You may say that by and large, It is Skimble who's in charge of the sleeping car express. From the driver and the guards to the bagman playing cards, He will supervise them all, More or less. Down the corridor he paces and examines all the faces of the travellers in the first and the third. He establishes control by a regular patrol and he'd know at once if anything occurred. He will watch you without winking and he sees that you are thinking and it's certain that he doesn't approve. A filarity and riot, So the folks are very quiet when Skimble is about and on the move. You can play no pranks with Skimble Shanks. He's a cat that cannot be ignored, So nothing goes wrong on the northern mail when Skimble Shanks is aboard. Oh, It's very pleasant when you have found your little den with your name written up on the door and the berth is very neat with a newly folded sheet and there's not a speck of dust on the floor. There is every sort of light. You can make it dark or bright. There's a handle that you turn to make a breeze. There's a funny little basin you're supposed to wash your face in and a crank to shut the window if you sneeze. Then the guard looks in politely and will ask you very brightly, Do you like your morning tea weak or strong? But Skimble's just behind him and was ready to remind him that Skimble won't let anything go wrong. And when you creep into your cosy berth and pull up your counterpane you ought to reflect that it's very nice to know that you won't be bothered by mice. You can leave all that to the railway cat, The cat of the railway train. In the watches of the night he is always fresh and bright. Every now and then he has a cup of tea with perhaps a drop of scotch while he's keeping on the watch, Only stopping here and there to catch a flea. You were fast asleep at Crewe and so you never knew that he was walking up and down the station. You were sleeping all the while he was busy at Carlisle where he greets the station master with elation. But you saw him at Dumfries where he speaks to the police if there's anything they ought to know about. When you get to Gallowgate there you do not have to wait. The Skimble shanks will help you to get out. He gives you a wave of his long brown tail which says, I'll see you again. You'll meet me without fail on the midnight mail, The cat of the railway train. And finally I'm going to read you of the awful battle of the Peaks and the Pollicles. Together with some account of the participation of the Pugs and the Poms and the intervention of the great Rumpus cat. The Peaks and the Pollicles everyone knows are proud and implacable passionate foes. It is always the same wherever one goes and the Pugs and the Poms, Although most people say that they do not like fighting, Will often display every symptom of wanting to join the fray. And they bark, Bark, Bark, Bark, Bark, Bark, Bark, Bark, Until you can hear them all over the park. Now on the occasion of which I shall speak, Almost nothing had happened for nearly a week and that's a long time for a poll or a peak. The big police dog was away from his beat. I don't know the reason but most people think he'd slipped into the bricklayer's arms for a drink. And no one at all was about on the street when a peak and a pollicle happened to meet. They didn't advance or exactly retreat but they glared at each other and scraped their hind feet and started to bark, Bark, Bark, Bark, Bark, Bark, Bark, Bark, Until you could hear them all over the park. Now the peak, Although people may say what they please, Is no British dog but a canine Chinese. And all the peaks when they heard the uproar, Some came to the window, Some came to the door, There were surely a dozen, More likely a score. And together they started to grumble and wheeze in their huffery snuffery canine Chinese. But a terrible din is what pollicles like, For your pollicle dog is a dowry Yorkshire tyke and his raw Scottish cousins are snappers and biters and every dog jack of them notable fighters. And so they stepped out with their pipers in order, Playing when the blue bonnets came over the border. Then the pugs and the poms held no longer aloof but some from the balcony, Some from the roof, Joined in to the din with a bark, Bark, Bark, Bark, Bark, Bark, Bark, Bark, Until you could hear them all over the park. Now when those bold heroes together assembled, The traffic all stopped and the underground trembled and some of the neighbours were so much afraid that they started to ring up the fire brigade. When suddenly up from a small basement flat, Why who should stalk out but the great rumpus cat? His eyes were like fireballs fearfully blazing, He gave a great yawn and his jaws were amazing and when he looked out through the bars of the area you never saw anything fiercer or hairier. And what with the glare of his eyes and his yawning, The peaks and the pollicles quickly took warning. He looked at the sky and he gave a great leap and they, Every last one of them, Scattered like sheep. And when the police dog returned to his beat, There wasn't a single one left in the street.

Reviews

Another one I had missed!!! Loved this one!! The first poem was one of the characters in CATS - the musical!! I remember singing his name!! So fun !
I’m finding these little gems! I do love you readings, Mandy! 🙏🏻😊❤️Have a great day!

I’m a cat lover; really enjoyed these clever and whimsical poems. Thanks Mandy 🙏🏻