Mac's Back

Well, almost. And she's not Mac, she's Lulu!

Only 3 more sleeps until bestie Lulu returns from a very long* schools tour of NZ. We haven't been separated for this long since... since we've known each other. We've been kindred spirits since our first day together at drama school. I've been missing her terribly - as you may have noticed if you're a regular reader of this blog.

In one of our many emails to & fro today, Lulu reminded me of this little gem of a poem, which was performed in first year by one of our drama school classmates - the magnificent Andrew. Andrew was the Trigorin to my Nina. He went AWOL midway through second year, leaving me to turn our two-hander assessment scene from The Seagull into a monologue.... complete with pre-scene psychological gesturing. I was livid at the time, but in retrospect that was the turning point in my work as an actor... so Andrew will always have my eternal love and gratitude.

Anyway, this poem (which Andrew performed in voice class) was one of the funniest things I'd ever seen. He clearly had a deep-seated hatred of cats** and delivered it so earnestly that the whole class was collapsed on the floor with laughter and it was all our voice teacher could do to keep a straight face and keep giving him direction. And if you knew our voice teacher you'd know how difficult that would be.

Lulu & I thought it would be fun to share this poem, so here it is. Just imagine it being spoken by a very sweet, very earnest, well spoken, tall, dark haired 20 year old boy wearing a baggy t-shirt and track pants...

There will be no more cats.
Cats spread infection,
Cats pollute the air,
Cats consume seven times their own weight in food a week,
Cats were worshipped in decadent societies (Egypt and Ancient Rome);
the Greeks had no use for cats.
Cats sit down to pee (our scientists have proved it).
The copulation of cats is harrowing;
they are unbearably fond of the moon.
Perhaps they are all right in their own country
but their traditions are alien to ours.
Cats smell, they can't help it,
you notice it going upstairs.
Cats watch too much television,
they can sleep through storms,
they stabbed us in the back last time.
There have never been any great artists who were cats.
They don't deserve a capital C
except at the beginning of a sentence.
I blame my headaches and my plants dying on cats.
Our district is full of them, property values are falling.
When I dream of God
I see a Massacre of Cats.
Why should they insist on their own language and religion,
who needs to purr to make his point?
Death to all cats!
The Rule of Dogs shall last a thousand years!

Can't wait to see you on Friday precious!
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* too bloody long
** as do I