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Authors: Chris Kelly

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T
ALL
A
LFRED

E
MMA

E
MMA

E
MMA

And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, And in short, I was afraid.

—T. S. E
LIOT
, “T
HE
L
OVE
S
ONG OF
J. A
LFRED
P
RUFROCK

1910

K
ING
E
DWARD
VII
DIED AT
Buckingham Palace on May 6, 1910, but everyone was too polite to talk about it, so the Edwardian era continued for at least another four years, until the unpleasant parts of the Great War.

Edward had been known to eat five meals a day, and his dinner often ran to ten courses. He had six children and countless mistresses, and his hobbies included hunting birds and watching horses and boats. When he died, the cats of Great Britain lost not just a sovereign but a soul mate.

His last words, “I shall not give in, I shall work to the end,” are now commonly understood to be a reference to a leg of lamb he was eating with both hands, which inspired the tradition, followed to this day, of waiters asking, “Are you still working on that?”

For the well-bred cats of England, life went on much as it always had. Upstairs, meals were taken, yawns were
exchanged, and upholstery was shredded, languidly. Warm, sunny spots were found in which to lie, or perhaps lay, one or the other. Eventually it was time to eat again.

The young humored the old, who took various firm stands on things and then backed down.

At Downton Tabby, for example, Papa—the Earl—was much admired, and much beloved, for this singular aspect of his character: a spotless record of doing the right thing eventually.

In the basement, since it was filled with cats, the tiniest slight could become a feud that lasted forever. When a new cat was brought into the home—like Boots, the Earl’s new valet—the older cats never let him forget that he was entering marked territory. And when a cat marks his territory, you can get used to the smell, or you can move . . . because it stays marked.

UNINVITED BUT NECESSARY WORDS FROM
The Dowager

Never eat your own fur in a month without an
r
in it.

Don’t make a fuss about breaking things like vases. Darting from the room as if shot from a gun is apology enough.

If you didn’t want me to leap on your head and cling to your face with my claws, you should not have invited me to a place where there’s thunder and lightning!

I’m a cat, Minxy. I can be as contrary as I choose.

There’s more than one way to kill a stoat.

Stop licking yourself there, dear, it’s terribly middle class.

Of course cats can speak. We’re just not speaking to
you
!

1912

I
F YOU’VE EVER LIVED WITH
a cat in heat, you know that ignoring it is like pretending you don’t live near the airport. In spring 1912, it was obvious to any animal with ears that Minxy, the firstborn of the Clowder litter, was ready for breeding.

This was simple
and
difficult, because for cats and Englishmen, sex was an earthy and unpleasant obligation, like death, or when Australians come to visit and stay. For
moneyed
English cats, mating was even more onerous and unsavory, because it involved real estate. So, to protect the territory, inheritance was governed by three ancient precepts:
agnatic primogeniture
,
Salic law
, and
entail
. As any child can tell you, agnatic primogeniture means kinship is defined patrilineally, Salic law means only males can inherit, and entail means cats have tails.

Unfortunately, cats, like royalty, are also snobs, so when Catrick heard the crème de la crème purring about the
Mewsitania
, the largest and most luxurious vessel in
the world, he booked himself for its maiden transatlantic crossing, first class. Because what cat doesn’t love crème?

Catrick had also heard that the ship was practically unsinkable, which appealed to him, as a cat, but that claim turned out to be an exaggeration.
*

Minxy’s caterwauling was starting to frighten the tenant farmers, so the Clowders resolved to move on to Plan B. Cousin Purrcey.

The Lord and Lady Grimalkin

request the pleasure of the company of

Mr. Purrcey Clowder

on Saturday, the eleventh of May at twelve o’clock

P.M.R.S.V.P.

P. S. You’ll find Minxy in the yard.

Unfortunately for the lovers, the twentieth century held horrors no cat could foresee. In this case, it was the vacuum cleaner, first patented in 1901 by Hubert Cecil Booth. Someone turned one on, just when Minxy and Purrcey were
seriously
getting to know each other, and Purrcey fled, headfirst into a bust of Lord Kitchener.

Cats may not be loyal like dogs. They can’t mimic speech like parrots or indicate that their owners are bad credit risks, like shoulder-borne lizards. But cats are resourceful. Minxy and Korat buried him in the yard.

*
Years later, the tragedy would be exploited as a crude plot device in a popular British television show about a family and their servants. It was called, of course,
Upstairs, Downstairs
. And if it wasn’t already campy enough that the writers used the disaster to drown one character, Lady Majorie, it also somehow gave another character amnesia, which was really unforgivable.

If this was love, love had been overrated.

—H
ENRY
J
AMES

How to Keep a Secret at Downton Tabby

T
HERE IS NOTHING MORE SACRED
than trust. When you learn a secret, especially one that will break Papa’s heart, the first thing to do is find someone to tell.

UNINVITED BUT NECESSARY WORDS FROM

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