Mog the forgetful cat
Judith Kerr ~ Parents' Magazine Press, 1970
Here is the book that separates the Americans from the Brits, for one reason alone, which I will get to in a second. The much beloved Mog, illustrated and written by the lovely and amazing (incredible, astounding, celebrated, talented and on and on) Judith Kerr who celebrated her 88th year this summer, is a classic. The first in a long series of books on the magnificent Mog. I also have a guest post on her other famous title The Tiger Who Came To Tea that I never posted when my internet went down on vacation but hopefully I will soon, Eliza Taylor! Anyways, here, we meet the black and white striped feline who is, as the title boldly states, forgetful.
Once there was a cat called Mog and she lived with a family called Thomas. Mog was nice but not very clever. She didn't understand a lot of things. A lot of other things she forgot. She was a very forgetful cat.
She forgets she's eaten dinner and begs for more. She forgets she can't do things like, um, fly. She forgets that the cat flap is used for getting in and out of the house with little to no human assistance. Her family loves her so, but is driven mad by all all her idiosyncratic notions.
But one night, one of her annoying personality traits comes in handy, when she inadvertently uses it to thwart a burglar. Brava kitty!
Now, here's the part I don't understand, as an American. The civilized notion that the thing to do with a thief while you wait for the police to arrive is to invite him in for tea. It's not explained within the story, yet there, one page after the man is nabbed, we see him enjoying a cup of tea with the family, his burglar mask casually dangling from his pinky.
Whether it's lost in translation or maybe I've lived in the gun-smoking state of Texas too long, who knows. (I think we all know what Rick Perry would have done to the guy.) No matter. My son thinks it's hilarious, which might be the point all together. Or better yet, when you've witnessed such incredible inhumanity firsthand like Ms. Kerr has, perhaps even the most loathsome soul deserves a spot of tea.
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