A Cat under the bed

 A cat under the bed.

History we are told depends on who is telling it. I can imagine that today, it the twenty-first century there are probably many types of historians. There are historians who do not dare to get their fingers dirty from touching artefacts. Those who “read” history like Lacan read Freud. Then there are those of the old school, those who go by the facts and dates. There is much new technology to help us discover the “truth.” We can carbon test and we can take DNA samples. Much of history is more like a crime scene these day. What I am about to tell you, falls in another category of history production, namely, fantasy. Fantasy sounds better than straight fiction. Imagine who or what sees so many events and never tells us anything. I am talking about animals. Of course there are detective stories where parrots record evidence, and Skippy the kangaroo. Indeed there are lots of animal detectives – but as far as I can tell only one cat under the bed. This cat who was nicknamed “Ivan the Terrible” by the palace staff, was ostensibly a ratter. As breeds go, he was a mixture of everything under the sun. His face was an obscenity those who like pure features. He had a permanent scowl on his face. The tip of his left ear had been bitten off by a greyhound. There were also scratch marks on his belly. He was tough who would without any by the leave, strike out with his paws or bite you with his sharp but uneven teeth. In a word he was peasant’s cat. Now, at this juncture you are asking yourself, probably taking bets, whose bed is the cat under? I shall have to ask you to keep a secret. The Empress of Russia’s bed. Yes Ivan the Terrible spent a great deal of his time under her bed in the Winter Palace. He kept quiet, however lovers sometimes heard a hissing sound. Once you are let into this secret. You can well imagine what kind of witness “Ivan the Terrible” would be! Imagine all those private intimacies! There is a technical problem though. Ivan the Terrible is a cat, and cats generally do not say much aside from gestures, hisses, cries, chattering and the like, all of which only convey the barest information. If, and we are talking of a monumental if, if Ivan the Terrible were able to write his memoirs, what would he write? For years he was under the bed. He heard arguments. He heard groans, moans and the wailing of climaxes. Then he saw bare feet slipped into the sheaths of boots. It is not much is it? He might describe the size of the toes. The hairiness. The weight. The complexion. The odour. Whether they were male or female. Their age. The quality of them. The health of the person. Most importantly the number. But it would not make for interesting reading. Who wants to read about sweaty feet? But, there were occasions Ivan saw knees and heard slobbering sounds. As to what was going on, Ivan had no idea until he heard giggles, and then a shudder on the bed. Skippy the kangaroo would tapped out cunnilingus with his feet. Ivan the Terrible would just write knees. Indeed his memoirs were full of description of feet and knees with the fleeting glimpses of hands. Once or twice he saw faces – and this led him to move further into the dark. The Empress knew all about Ivan. Indeed she positively mollycoddled him. He represented a true Russian spirit after all. He was a peasant. She would call him and he would run straight out and behave like a perfect kitten. She overlooked his ugly scowl. She loved his courage. He was also attentive to her moods. If she was angry with someone, Ivan would not hesitate to claw the feet leaving gashes. The injured party would topple over in agony as Catherine the Great, Empress of all Russia and her dominions, laughed and laughed. “Get out!” she shouted in Russian. Once the Count or the Captain was out of the room, she’d call Ivan and ring for her maid to fetch some delicacy for Ivan. It is conceivable that history was changed because of these encounters with Ivan the Terrible. We have unfortunately no records.