# poetry



## that1girl (Dec 15, 2005)

The Naming of Cats

 The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
   It isn't just one of your holiday games;
 You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
 When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
 First of all, there's the name that the family use daily,
   Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
 Such as Victor or Jonathan, or George or Bill Bailey -
   All of them sensible everyday names.
 There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
   Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
 Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter -
   But all of them sensible everyday names.
 But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular,
   A name that's peculiar, and more dignified,
 Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
   Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
 Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
   Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
 Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum -
   Names that never belong to more than one cat.
 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

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The Old Gumbie Cat

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
Her coat is of the tabby kind, with tiger stripes and leopard spots.
All day she sits upon the stair or on the steps or on the mat;
She sits and sits and sits and sits--and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!

But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
And when all the family's in bed and asleep,
She tucks up her skirts to the basement to creep.
She is deeply concerned with the ways of the mice
Their behaviour's not good and their manners not nice;
So when she has got them lined up on the matting,
She teachs them music, crocheting and tatting.

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
Her equal would be hard to find, she likes the warm and sunny spots.
All day she sits beside the hearth or on the bed or on my hat:
She sits and sits and sits and sits--and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!

But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
As she finds that the mice will not ever keep quiet,
She is sure it is due to irregular diet;
And believing that nothing is done without trying,
She sets right to work with her baking and frying.
She makes them a mouse--cake of bread and dried peas,
And a beautiful fry of lean bacon and cheese.

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
The curtain-cord she likes to wind, and tie it into sailor-knots.
She sits upon the window-sill, or anything that's smooth and flat:
She sits and sits and sits and sits--and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!

But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
She thinks that the cockroaches just need employment
To prevent them from idle and wanton destroyment.
So she's formed, from that lot of disorderly louts,
A troop of well-disciplined helpful boy-scouts,
With a purpose in life and a good deed to do
And she's even created a Beetles' Tattoo.

So for Old Gumbie Cats let us now give three cheers
On whom well-ordered households depend, it appears.


T.S. Eliot


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