Moosicals of Moo
The Songs of my People
Cats, in case you didn’t know, are musically inclined. I am a talent beyond measure, and yet my moosical charms are lost on humans with their non-rotating ears and poor taste in dance moves. I mean, they walk around on two legs, that really just sums up their artistic capabilities now, doesn’t it?
Anyway, I am a wide-ranging vocalist, but one of my favourite moosical moments as you can imagine, is of course, The Midnight Serenade for Bae. I wait, until all is still, until his eyes are closed, and I know he will fully appreciate my lyrical charms without interruption. As an introduction, I set the stage by running up and down the stairs extremely fast, a kind of paw induced drumroll for the crescendo of cat-love which I’m about to enrapture him with. Then, I will take a deep breath, puff out my chest right outside his door, and begin. The tone is heartfelt, is melancholy, about the Manbae Moo divide of this world which plagues my every waking thought. I lament him with tales of my love, operatic arias of my fantasies involving the two of us, side by side on a throne of bone, tiny headed hooman at my feet. Sometimes I will even venture into the realm of yodelling, though I’m not sure how much he enjoys this section of the performance. Still, while at the top of the stair mountain you might as well try to fit in I suppose. This can go on for as long as two hours, until finally, finally… I hear his voice grumble something inaudible, which I can only think of as extreme gratitude and applause, and I know he has heard me, know he has been fully woo-ed.
Yet another one of my musical masterpieces is known well among the entire hooman clan with which I am doomed to cohabitate, this being the song of starvation. The rules for when exactly the start of starvation begins are foggy for cats, some cats believe it is when the jelly goes dry, or even warm. Others believe it is when you can merely see the bottom of your dish. Either way, the song of starvation is a long-held ritual among us and goes to protest our reliance on the hoomans to open our food.
Why has nobody thought to invent a cat accessible bag? Or can? We have claws after all, and what better way to sharpen them than on cans of chicken and rice?
I will sit by my bowl for this performance, or uptake the ceremonial dance of swirling between the hooman’s two stumpy legs, hoping against all hope that if I threaten to trip them for long enough that they will eventually feed me. If I do a particularly good job, they might even let me lick the can clean, but this is only used as excessive tipping in regard to the British short hair busker life, a shame, but unfortunately times are hard, with only two main feedings per day. I am still trying to get hold of the union rep, but alas, I think she had kittens.
Speaking of other cats, we use dance fighting and make our music, impromptu, to dance to when we are fighting for territory, hence the need for regular vocal exercise and practice. Just earlier this week Black Cat tried to pull the ever-popular arched back moonwalk move, but I am not perturbed. I got my swooshing floofen tail swish down cold, so come at me black cat! The songs for this are as ever, inventive and created freestyle, though usual lyrics will include slurs about Yo Kitty Mamma and other extremely disturbing nip practices which I have never thought of becoming involved with. Sometimes I will throw in about bae, because I know if I yowl loud enough he will come and back me up, despite his two-legged disadvantage.
Finally, there is the oldest song of my people. The song of the hunt. Which involves chirruping pointlessly out of the window, grinding one’s teeth and practicing for the moment we encase prey in our jaws at long last. It is not a pretty song, not deep or emotional. But merely a war cry of- I’m gonna fuck you up entirely. It’s primal, a chattering rawness spreading from the lips of mighty predators all over the world to remind the smaller flying and hopping creatures who among them lies at the top of the food chain.
I hope you enjoyed this small look into my moosical talents and daily performances. Perhaps next time you hear a cat, you might even tip them with toona?