Moggie Madness

Music was a large part of my life growing up so it should come as no surprise that I really love musical theatre. While other kids were getting spoiled with games consoles for presents, my idea of getting spoiled was a trip to Sydney to see Phantom of the Opera, Pirates of Penzance, Joseph and the Technicolour Dreamcoat, Les Miserables or even Miss Saigon. Oh and who could forget South Pacific?

But my favourite would have to be the one I have never ever seen live on stage - Cats. I remember watching an episode of The Nanny when it was in its hey day and one of the quips was always that the producer was the idiot who passed up on Cats. If there was such a person, then they would have well and truly been kicking themselves - by 2000 when if finally closed, the show had been running on Broadway for around 20 years.

Of course Cats is based on T S Eliot’s work, Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats - and the following is part of the opening verse, “The Naming Of Cats”.

But above and beyond there’s still one name left over and that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover - but THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation, the reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable, effable, effanineffable, deep and inscrutable singular Name.

- T S Eliot

I’m not really big on poetry but this book will always have a place on my shelf.