It's another Talking Cat Week at Strange Company! From the "Baltimore Sun," December 21, 1949:

Kiki, of Charles Street avenue and Chesapeake avenue, withheld comment yesterday afternoon on his guardian's claim that she regularly regularly holds conversations with him. Kiki is a cat.

The claimant is Dr. Clara B. Fishpaugh, Ph.D., D.Sc, a former professor of education and psychology at West Virginia Wesleyan College. Kiki wandered into Dr. Fishpaugh's Towson home about six years ago, she recalled. The first time that she learned of his superfeline faculty of speech, Dr. Fishpaugh said, was not until about two years later. "I had brought him some lamb kidneys from the market. He's very fond of lamb kidneys.

"'Kiki,' I said. 'Mr. Will gave you these. Do you think you ought to thank Mr. Will?'

"Kiki distinctly replied. 'Yeah.' He never has managed to pronounce pronounce his S's."

Since that astonishing exchange. Kiki's vocabulary has been enormously increased, or. at least, more fully demonstrated, Dr. Fishpaugb recounted. On a hot summer day, the cat is likely to come crawling into the house, apparently hot and tired, collapse on a cushion and exclaim. "Aw in," which, Dr. Fishpaugh explained, means, "I'm all in."

One recent inclement afternoon, Kiki returned dripping rain and informed the psychologist, that he was "cold-wet."

A great lover of crabmeat, Kiki recently surprised Dr. Fishpaugh by scorning a dish of it and strolling airily out of the dining room. "What's the matter?" Dr. Fishpaugh inquired. "Don't want it," Kiki reportedly replied.

Dr. Fishpaugh was afraid for a moment that Kiki was talking nonsense until she observed that he had neglected food only because he had caught sight of one Suzie, another cat, with whom he is on good terms.

"Kiki is not very friendly with strangers." Dr. Fishpaugh pointed out. "But, after all, there is no other animal as individualistic as a cat, is there?" Like a child coaxed to perform for the benefit of visitors. Kiki is likely to seal his lips and utter not a word when on show. This childlike obstinacy fits Dr. Fishpaugh's theory that animals in some ways resemble human infants. "It has always been my opinion," she said, "that animals learn like children, only more slowly. The trouble is that few animals are given the chance to learn."

Furthermore, Dr. Fishpaugh contends that animals learn not only by association but by their reasoning power and intelligence. Although occasionally inclined to be moody and even rude, Kiki usually calls Dr. Fishpaugh "mom," she said fondly.

As an indication of the high regard in which he holds her, Dr. Fishpaugh told of Kiki's reaction to a recent picture taken of the two together. "Kiki looked at the picture intently. He looked at me intently. He looked back at the picture, and took his paw and knocked the picture out of my hand. He evidently didn't think that the camera had done me justice."

Although most of Kiki's conversation seems reserved for Dr. Fishpaugh. she says her pet once amazed a brush salesman and on another occasion caused a plumber to observe Kiki had "a lot more sense than some people." The brush salesman had been in the house a half hour and Kiki obviously didn't like him, according to Dr. Fishpaugh. She said Kiki finally burst out with: "Man." "Do you have a parrot?" she quoted the brush man. "No, a talking cat," she said she replied.

Kiki apparently looks after his own health quite carefully. He retires for the night promptly when the clock strikes 8 P.M. He wears a snug sweater which Dr. Fishpaugh has provided for him. He carefully avoids the lawn when he is warned that dead grass is being burned there. He stays at home when Dr. Fishpaugh tells him that dogs are at large outside.

Dr. Fishpaugh said that some of Kiki's sentences are almost complete, such as, "Dog out now." There are times, on the other hand, when Kiki's remarks are limited to cryptic monosyllables and nods of the head.

He apparently tends to be reticent when his feelings are hurt. One of the times that Kiki really seemed to be offended was when Dr. Fishpaugh told him about a talented cat that could sing "Silent Night" and earn large sums doing so. "Kiki warbled a few notes," Dr. Fishpaugh said. "It didn't sound like much. When I asked him to try again he just shrugged, as though to say, 'I already showed you I can do it.' "

Yesterday, Kiki wouldn't even shrug.

A side note: to date, I haven't been able to find out anything about the cat who sang Christmas carols, but rest assured, the search goes on.

Carl Miles and Blackie

"That a talking cat could generate interest and income is not surprising. Man's fascination with the domestic feline is perennial. People of western cultures usually fall into two categories. Generally, they are ailurophiles or ailurophobes. Cats are ubiquitous in the literature, lore and fiber of our society and language. The ruthless Garfield commands the comic strips, the Cat in the Hat exasperates even Dr. Seuss, and who hasn't heard of Heathcliff, Felix or Sylvester? Historically, calico cats have eaten gingham dogs, we are taught that 'a cat can look at a king' and at least one cat has 'been to London to see the Queen.'

"It is often said that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. To the animal world, I am sure that the sincerest form is anthropomorphosis. The ailurophobes contend that anthropomorphosis abounds, and that it is the work of ailurophiles. The ailurophiles say that they do not anthropomorphize cats but, rather, that cats have such human qualities as they may condescend to adopt for their own selfish purposes. Perhaps such was the case with Saki's ill-fated Tobermory, the cat who knew too much and told all, who, when asked if the human language had been difficult to learn, '... looked squarely at [Miss Resker] for a moment and then fixed his gaze serenely on the middle distance. It was obvious that boring questions lay outside his scheme of life.'

"For hundreds, perhaps thousands of years, people have carried on conversations with cats. Most often, these are one-sided and range from cloying, mawkish nonsense to topics of science and the liberal arts. Apparently Blackie's pride does not prevent him from making an occasional response to this great gush of human verbiage, much to the satisfaction and benefit of his 'owners.' Apparently, some cats do talk. Others just grin." 

~District Judge Bowen, from his ruling in Carl M. Miles, et al., Plaintiffs, v. City Council, et al., Defendants, 1982.

Few things make me happier than welcoming a talking cat through the hallowed gates of Strange Company HQ. If this particular feline also happened to shape legal precedent, even better.

The plaintiffs in our little drama were Carl and Elaine Miles, "owners and promoters" of Blackie the Talking Cat. They challenged the constitutionality of Augusta's Business License Ordinance, claiming that it violated the rights of speech and association. In short, the city of Augusta insisted that Blackie, as a professional public speaker, get a business license, and Mr. and Mrs. Miles resented having to pony up the required $50. In their original 1982 suit, the District Judge Bowen ruled in favor of the city. ("The ordinance challenged by the plaintiffs is constitutionally valid depriving them of neither due process nor equal protection. The ordinance is a legitimate, rational means for the generation of revenue for the benefit of the defendant. It does not trammel the fundamental rights of the plaintiffs as guaranteed by the state and federal constitutions.") Carl and Elaine then brought their case to the United States Court of Appeals.

Carl's deposition was introduced into evidence, where he explained Blackie's origins and subsequent rise to fame: "Well, a girl come around with a box of kittens, and she asked us did we want one. I said no, that we did not want one. As I was walking away from the box of kittens, a voice spoke to me and said, 'Take the black kitten.' I took the black kitten, knowing nothing else unusual or nothing else strange about the black kitten. When Blackie was about five months old, I had him on my lap playing with him, talking to him, saying I love you. The voice spoke to me saying, 'The cat is trying to talk to you.' To me, the voice was the voice of God."

Never one to quarrel with the wishes of the Almighty, Miles developed "a rigorous course of speech therapy" for Blackie. Carl explained, "I would tape the sounds the cat would make, the voice sounds he would make when he was trying to talk to me, and I would play those sounds back to him three and four hours a day, and I would let him watch my lips, and he just got to where he could do it.

"He was talking when he was six months old, but I could not prove it then. It was where I could understand him, but you can't understand him. It took me altogether a year and a half before I had him talking real plain where you could understand him."

Blackie hit the show business circuit, with great success. He spoke on radio shows, and made an appearance on the TV series "That's Incredible."  (He also recorded a holiday tune, "A Special Christmas Featuring Blackie the Cat That Talked," and I will never rest until I find a copy.)  This was one performer who truly appreciated his audience, which even included the District Judge, who revealed that one day when he encountered Blackie on the street, he gave the cat a dollar.  In return, Blackie purred, "I love you." (The court noted that "this affectionate encounter occurred before the Judge ruled against Blackie.")

As so often happens to even the most deserving talents, Blackie's nationwide fame began to subside. He was reduced to hanging out on street corners, soliciting contributions from passerby to hear him talk. (We are told that "Blackie would become catatonic and refuse to speak whenever his audience neglected to make a contribution.") Some busybodies went to the Augusta police, complaining that Blackie had no right to act as a professional Talking Cat without the proper paperwork.

The plaintiff's lawyer pointed out that "the Augusta business ordinance contains no category for speaking animals. The ordinance exhaustively lists trades, businesses, and occupations subject to the tax and the amount of the tax to be paid, but it nowhere lists cats with forensic prowess."

The Appellate court ruled against the plaintiffs. The judges pointed out that Blackie spoke in return for money, so therefore these "elocutionary endeavors" were indubitably commercial. In other words, Blackie was certainly a businessman...uh, businesscat, and therefore required a license just like any other Augusta entrepreneur. They also dismissed the argument that Blackie's right to free speech had been infringed upon.   "[A]lthough Blackie arguably possesses a very unusual ability, he cannot be considered a 'person' and is therefore not protected by the Bill of Rights. Second, even if Blackie had such a right, we see no need for appellants to assert his right jus tertii. Blackie can clearly speak for himself."

So this is how Blackie went into legal history as--to the best of my knowledge--the world's first officially licensed talking cat. Unfortunately, he failed to find the lasting fame and fortune he undoubtedly deserved.  In 1989 Carl Miles developed cataracts, and he stopped publicly exhibiting his prized feline, although Blackie was still happy to chat with visitors to the Miles home.

After battling multiple health problems, Blackie passed away in 1992 at the age of 18.  Miles told a reporter that just before the end, the cat looked up at him and said one last time, "I love you."

via Newspapers.com

"Adelaide!" said Mrs. Cornett, "do you mean to encourage that cat to go out and gossip about us in the servants' hall?"
~Saki, "Tobermory"

Some of you may remember my post paying tribute to Kurwenal, Nazi Germany's most famous talking dog.

"But, Undine," you probably asked yourself. "What about cats? If there is any breed of animal that seems a natural for shooting off at the mouth and putting humans in their proper place, surely it would be our beloved masters, the felines. Where are your talking cats?"

Glad you asked.

On June 7, 1963, Mrs. Ruth Deem (some sources say "Deems,") of Lake Hamilton, Florida, heard mewing in some tall grass near her home. When her husband James went to investigate, he found a wet, bedraggled, and very unhappy white kitten. The little creature was in poor health--it was anyone's guess how long he had been abandoned--but veterinary care enabled him to pull through.

And so the Deems found they had acquired a new member of their household. As they already had a pure black cat named "Blackie," it seemed only natural to name the kitten "Whitey."

All was entirely normal until Whitey was six months old. One morning, he jumped on Mrs. Deem's bed and stared her straight in the eye. As is common with cats, he was demanding that his lazy human get up and provide him with breakfast. What is not so common is that, according to Mrs. Deem, Whitey then declared, "I'm hungry!"

"I thought I was hearing things," Mrs. Deem later recalled. "A cat can't talk."

She stared at her pet. "Mama," he said impatiently, "I'm hungry."

"What did you say?"

"I'm hungry."

I'm not sure what you would do if a cat suddenly began asking for a meal, but I would probably react in the same way as Mrs. Deem: get up and give the cat a meal. She said nothing about the incident to her husband or anyone else.

A few days later, Mr. Deem was lying on his bed. Whitey jumped up to join him. "Whitey," James said playfully, "you're a bad cat."

"I am not a bad cat," Whitey retorted. "I want to go out."

"Did you hear that?" Mr. Deem shouted to his wife. She then confessed that this was old news to her.

Whitey and the Deems

Whitey proved to be quite the chatterbox. Whenever Mrs. Deem returned from the store, he would greet her with "What did you bring me?" He would paw through the groceries until he found what he wanted, and then say, "Open!" One day when he was out by their front porch, he summoned her with "Come! Come! He's a big one!" She discovered that the object of Whitey's admiration was a large snake. When she screamed, the cat snorted, "Mama's a coward." (It must be said that our hero had his softer side. He was fond of telling Mrs. Deem "I love you, Mama.") Whitey was also a big fan of watching TV, although he seemed confused about whether the action he saw onscreen was real or not.

The Deems shared the news about their remarkable cat to the neighbors, who reacted pretty much the way you'd think. One friend, Marshall Ferguson, privately believed the Deems were "loose upstairs," until the day Whitey trotted past him, calling, "Where's Ma?" A few days later, Whitey marched up to Mrs. Deem tattling that Ferguson had once hit him with a newspaper. Ruth went over to the neighbor and asked if he had ever hit Whitey. He recalled that once, he saw Whitey and Blackie fighting. He had struck them with a rolled up newspaper to stop them.

But how did Ruth know about this? Then it hit him. "That damn cat told her."



Unfortunately, Whitey was fond of street brawls. Around this same time, another cat fight landed him in the vet's office. He told the vet's assistant, "I want to go home."

The startled man looked around him. There was nobody else in the room....except that cat. He told the vet what had happened. The vet presumed that it was his employee who really needed medical help. The vet went and took a peek at Whitey. Whitey said, "I want to go home."

Oh.

Inevitably, word spread that there was something unusual about Mr. and Mrs. Deem's cat. Their home was soon overrun with newspaper reporters, paranormal investigators, and simple pesky looky-loos. In true cat fashion, Whitey generally refused to cooperate with these intruders, staying exasperatingly mute in their presence. There were, however, one or two exceptions. One day, a traveling preacher sought out the Deems, eager to meet their loquacious cat. As he was chatting with them, they were all disconcerted to hear Whitey tell the visitor, "Why don't you go home?" The cat added, "He's a stinker!"

"Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" the embarrassed Mrs. Deem told her pet.

"I am not!" snapped Whitey.

On another occasion, the Deems were on a road trip to North Carolina. Finding it difficult to get hotel rooms with two cats in tow, the couple slept in their car. One night, as a policeman walked past their car, he heard a voice from inside the car cry, "Help! Help!" When he approached the car, he found two sleeping humans plus a large white cat.

The cat informed this officer of the law, "I want out, please. No one loves me."

Perverse, demanding, manipulative, and utterly indifferent to the feelings of humans. In short, Whitey was said to talk exactly the way you would expect a cat to talk, if it ever wished to talk. The moral is becoming clear: if you have a cat, and he or she stays silent, be grateful.

Sadly, Whitey was a cat who made poor lifestyle choices. He refused to remain an indoor cat. He was constantly demanding to be let outside, where he would wander the world and find trouble around practically every corner. During his travels, Whitey got into fights, was catnapped by strangers curious about this celebrity feline, was poisoned (whether by accident or deliberate malice was never known,) and even, on one occasion, was shot. Poor Whitey was a regular visitor to the vet's office.

On one of his journeys, Whitey was seen lounging around a vacant lot by a neighbor, Joe Rhodes. Rhodes approached the cat with the intention of rounding him up and bringing him back to the Deems.

"You can't catch me," Whitey told him.

We are told Rhodes was so surprised, "he nearly fell down."

In 1964, "Fate" magazine published an article by Susy Smith about Florida's most loquacious feline. Smith wrote that while Whitey had, to date, remained silent in her presence, she was eager to pay the cat another visit. "I will never be satisfied until Whitey speaks to me."

I cannot say if Whitey ever did. As far as I can tell, by 1967 he had simply disappeared from the newspapers. I fear it's possible that around that time, Whitey's many vicissitudes took its toll on him, and he passed away. Hopefully, I'm wrong, and he instead spent many more years happily driving everyone around him stark staring mad.

In 1964, a friend of Mr. and Mrs. Deem, the Rev. Bennett William Palmer, told a reporter, "There is no element of rumor or hearsay or gossip in any of the stories regarding the talking cat. Every story which has gone to press has been vouched for by from one to three witnesses who have claimed to have heard the cat talk. Unbelievable as it is to many, it is as authentic as human testimony can make it."

Every now and then, I come across a story where I simply do not know what to say about it. The Talking Cat of Florida is one of them.