Westerman’s Shoe Bazaar

Pam’s Pictorama Post: This post kicks off a series of cat advertising I have indulged in recently so hang onto your hats! More than 100 years before cat videos people realized the entertainment value of cats and that they sure can sell. Trade cards like this one from the late 1800’s still exist in abundance so they must have been a primary way of advertising. I am not sure I have yet grasped how they were disseminated – this variety is small, the size of an early baseball card, and do not appear to have been sent via the mail. If they were handed out – where? On the street? I have to continue to look into this.

A search on Westerman’s Shoe Bazaar revealed an advertisement (without cats I might add) on page 8 of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch from Thursday, November 27, 1890. They respectfully say, if you want something in the way of FOOTWEAR NICE or FETCHING in STYLE Westerman’s Shoe Bazaar was evidently the place for you. For the local St. Louis folks, you may wish to note that it was at 1232 South Broadway, French Market.

Now for this splendid card – grandma is an enormous, bespectacled, grinning (and fang-y) kitty – a real wolf in grandma’s clothing of a cat. At first I thought Grandma’s Pet was a brave if rooty tooty, little mouse fellow, but a closer look revealed that he too is a cat – tiny by comparison, with a striped tail, more or less identical to Grandma’s. He holds a little sword and a pair of spectacles, like hers, and a jaunty cap with a feather. Does he do her bidding, and if so what? I adore it, but I have no idea whatsoever what the meaning might be or the inspiration – let alone what it has to do with shoes. Unlike some of these cards, there is no information on the back.

Pictorama readers with a good memory will know that this is likely by the same artist who did the art for the card I posted in Arctic Baking Powder several weeks ago. I provide that card below for comparison and your enjoyment. As the collection grows, perhaps the mystery will unfold.

Getting a Grip on Kitty

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Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: Just like something out of a Lilian Harvey film from 1930, this German photo of man, child and katze caught my eye recently. A bit of google search tells me that Vandenheuvel is a surname, although obviously also an advertisement here. It could perhaps, be the name of the man and girl. I like the little girl – she is at a gangly stage with her legs a bit out of proportion (tights bagging at the knees) to the rest of her, big smile and of course clutching her tuxedo cat; him, one ear cocked in vague irritation, tucked neatly under her arm. The man, smoking a pipe, with a smile more in his eyes than on his lips, looks like a nice man. While everything about them is a bit worn, there is a sense of ease if not actual prosperity about them.

A girl and her cat – a favorite theme of mine. While cats have been my friends and confidents since childhood they, like me and especially the childhood me, are also notoriously willful. It is very hard to get a cat to do something that wasn’t the cat’s own idea to begin with, as we all know. This includes getting them to sit still in a photo.

The way she is holding the cat is what my family refers to as cat prison. Obviously cat prison is a gotcha grip on a cat that guarantees the best result for holding onto said puss. The hold in the photo is one of the dependable ones and certainly one of the few that can be employed for photo taking – although in looking over some photos we’ve also been know to employ the method of flipping them over on their back like a baby. As a kid I used to carry our huge orange tabby Pumpkin around like the girl in the photo – which he allowed if not actually encouraged. (Pumpkin and I were close. He would have taken anyone else’s arm off.) My father coined the phrase cat prison – his preferred hold is on his lap with his two large hands holding the cat on his lap – nothing fancy for him. Usually employed in his case for brushing said kitty. It can be the only way to get a photo of some cats – but it is also the struggle of man against the determination of cat – a never ending battle.

Cat Tales, John Rosol

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: This great little book was a thoughtful gift of our friends Tony and Sue Eastman who know of my love of all things black cat. An initial search of the author and artist, John Rosol, turned up surprisingly little. (I am very spoiled and have gotten used to information on even the most obscure topics turning up with ease, I admit.) To start with however, the comics in this book were all published in the Saturday Evening Post and all feature his cat, Tommy.

As per the dust cover, Tommy was a stray who strolled into Mr. Rosol’s Philadelphia studio and calmly seated himself on the drawing board. Rosol got Tommy’s idea immediately and went to work. In exchange for small steaks, liver, cream and catnip (no wonder he was a fat cat!) Tommy consented to stay for a while and be Caterer Rosol’s idea man…When he finally took his leave – destination unknown – he had trained Mr. Rosol so well that not even an expert can tell where Tommy left off and John began…P.S. Mr. Rosol hopes if this little books happens to come under the eye of Tommy, he will drop into the studio and turn off the light which is always burning for him. I, of course, teared up at the idea of the disappearance of Tommy. While my edition dates from 1944, the first printing appears to go back to 1934.

The cartoons are simple and cheerfully fun. The idea that he turned one cat into a consistent five identical twins brings certain very busy cats to mind. I have had several who had such a penchant for trouble that you would swear that there was more than one cat underfoot. (Cookie!) The gags are mostly of the kind assigned to cats – attempts to obtain fish and milk and to chase mice for food. Most notably the Tommy quints are patriotic during these WWII years and even turn their fat cat noses up at crab meat when they realize it was shipped from Japan, abandon their mouse chase when reminded to embrace a “meatless day”, round up dogs for service, and even help a female soldier who is afraid of mice.

A fellow blogger over at Comics Kingdom has the scoop on Rosol’s two brief syndicated strips, The Boy and the Cat (1939-1941) and Here and There (1941). Comics Kingdom offers some samples of Here and There and the black cat/s are tucked into these as well. In the style of earlier comics these are large single panel tableaus, with a different strip (about the cat) running occasionally up one side. This entry, combined with his obit, add the following facts: Rosol was trained as a commercial artist at the Philadelphia Museum School of Art, which later became the Philadelphia College of Art. His full name was John Rolosowicz and he died at the age of 85, still living in Philadelphia. In addition to his comics which were syndicated to numerous papers across the country, and his work for the Saturday Evening Post, he also worked for Bazooka bubblegum. He published a children’s book The Cat’s Meow which I can find no evidence of online and evidently was working up until his death.

So I salute John Rosol, a cat loving cartoonist, barely saved from disappearing entirely from view by the internet and this popular volume.

Pins and Needles

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Pam’s Pictorama: A discussion of somewhat disparate topics continues with this absolutely splendid item which was given to me the other day. I know this nice couple via the Met and had not seen them in quite a while. Evidently they remembered my passion for all things cats and put aside this wonderful little item for me, and I couldn’t be more pleased.

As it happens, one of the first black cat items I acquired was a soft tape measure and pin cushion kitty. (For those of you who have been following in recent weeks you will understand that this cat, and most of the others, is packed away for the duration of our building’s HVAC work which required the dusty dirty demise of our ceiling. I am sorry not to be able to share a photo of him.) I was in an antiques market Kim and I frequent in Red Bank, NJ – not far from the Butler family ancestral home – when I happened on it. Like this fellow, he has a tape measure tongue you can pull out and was entirely soft so you could stick pins in him, I suppose.

This guy would have sat proudly on your sewing stand, at attention, waiting for the sewing to commence, never lost or misplaced, as I constantly loose both my stashes of needles and tape measures – not to mention thread. I especially like his red felt tongue which is the pull on the tape measure and matches his red bow and of course the nice velvet pincushion on his back. He is a tad too fragile to resume his responsibilities keeping my needles, but he will have a proud safe shelf to perch on in his retirement as soon as the dust, quite literally, clears here.

While I admit I always wished to be a gifted seamstress, nothing could be further from the truth I am afraid. Thanks to the efforts of a roommate in London during a stint in college, I can sew a button on with great confidence it will stay. However, aside from that there has never been a sewing machine bobbin I didn’t destroy on sight and, beyond buttons, my hand stitching tends toward the lopsided and, shall we say, organic. I appear to come from a long line of barely functional sewers. My maternal grandmother could do a hem under duress, but neither grandmothers or my mother were churning out daily wear. My sister showed promise in this area and made a number of garments before drifting away from it. (She also made bread well which is another skill I can’t master. Of course, she was also a PhD in Math – need I say more? I can barely balance a checkbook.)

I am the first to say, one can’t be good at everything so I long ago ceded to my ineptness in this, and other areas. However, that is not to say I don’t enjoy the related accoutrements for these activities – especially if a cat is involved.

Tuxedo on the Job

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Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: The slide back over to photographs continues with this recent acquisition. It made me laugh out loud – not sure that was its intended purpose, but it did. It was never sent and there is nothing written on it. Somehow the woman and the dog look like sister and brother. The birdcage appears to be empty – that little fellow has flown the coop one way or another I guess. For me, best of all of course, is that sharp looking tuxedo cat; all a-point, looking like the only one with any sense in the family. This woman looks as if she can use the help.

For regular readers it is not news that I tend to favor tuxedo cats. Although my very first cat was white with black cow-spots, and the one I really considered my furry sister was a calico, it has been tuxedoes that I have been drawn to adopting in my adult life. My first tux was a childhood pet, Mitzy. She was a pretty and precise little black and white girl who lived an extraordinarily long life considering I believe I was a teenager when we acquired her and she lived long enough that Kim met her. I forget now exactly how we ended up with her – I have a vague memory of a neighbor boy coming over with her and announcing that he knew we had cats and did we want this one? The young man in question was not a model citizen and I guess Mom had no real choice, but to take Mitz in.

Mitzy seemed to end up as my brother’s cat to some degree, although I think it would be fair to say that we were what I will call cat wealthy at the time. There were a few dogs too. I think my parents were taking the in for a penny in for a pound approach with animals and kids abounding at that time. Mitzy was a precise cat – as girl cats and especially tuxedoes tend to be. Kept her whites white and her black hair shining. Would always enjoy a few pets and didn’t fight with the other cats or cause much trouble, a model citizen. As I mentioned, she lived into her twenties. A Methuselah of cats. A series of tuxedoes in the family followed: Otto, Milkbone, Zippy, Roscoe and now the mantel is worn by Cookie who is asking for dinner as I write this. If it was Miss Cookie in this photo she probably would have eaten the bird and struck up a fight with the pooch. Not all tuxedoes have the same sense of responsibility.

Puss in Boots Revisted

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Pam’s Pictorama Toy Post: A study of the cat collection rolls on with this very early Puss in Boots doll. Unlike my other Puss in Boots toys (featured in the early post Puss ‘n Boots – a tale of stuffed kitties) this fellow is much smaller, about ten inches, and maintains his boots – proof of his origin. Puss was purchased on eBay for a modest sum; I was the only one looking that day I guess. He bears no label, but is clearly well made with glass eyes. I have a yen for Puss in Boots toys and find them a tad irresistible.

Of course, the story appeals to me – a roguish trickster cat who gets what he wants not only for himself, but for his impoverished master. (Cookie and Blackie, please take note.) I have puzzled in my own mind for years over the question of why the cat wanted boots, but nonetheless, he does look very dashing in them. Cats always understand looking good. The tale traces back as far as the 16th century Italy, but it is the 17th century French version by Perrault is what most of us think of when we contemplate it. In some versions, when the cat later tests the fidelity of his master and finds it lacking he turns on him too. Clearly the cat was a great guy when on your team but you shouldn’t mess with him.

The story has become a much-illustrated and beloved one and it seems to be a popular toy at the beginning of the 20th century. Therefore it is not surprising that Disney used it as the inspiration for his earliest cartoons. Grab your kitty and curl up to have a look on Youtube as linked below. (Click on the link, not the photo which is just for show.)

Puss in Boots 1922

Catville

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Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: I have a complicated relationship with posed cat photos. I find a lot of them (think cat weddings, cat hanging laundry, cats using a short-wave radio type Harry Whittier Frees photos) smarmy and the cats vaguely drugged and tormented looking. However, once in a while Frees and his wanna be’s hit it on the nose for me. (See a past post, Flying Dutch Kitties for a favorite example.) These cards by an unidentified photographer are another example.

Although neither card has been mailed, the second one has the following written in a neat script on the back, Mrs. Wm. Durrant, 810 West Fifth St, Plainfield, NJ.

I especially like the first shot – this cat looks nicely set up with the drinks and pipes, paws folded neatly in front of him. The cards seem a shade less than professional somehow and there is no studio marking or numbering system. The cat appears to be a gray tuxedo – a cat who is always in formal wear, by definition. Despite my disparaging of some of the Frees photos, I readily admit to a yen to pop a pair of specs on the kitties, bunny ears – or perhaps a well chosen chapeau. As I have mentioned previously, Kim has rescued the kits from this fate. I know it is undignified, but I can’t help but think it would be so much fun! I almost wonder if this was an early, similar attempt by someone with a well behaved cat.

This kind of dressing the cats up fiesta, always leads me to thinking about the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Dogville Comedy shorts. Made between 1929 and 1931, these shorts, enacted with an all dog cast, usually featured dog-centric remakes of popular recent films of the day. The selection of these on Youtube was a bit thinner than I expected. However, for those of you who have not experienced these before I will recommend you give this group of three a try, Dogville Comedies. The Dogway Melody is perhaps the best of the lot and is the last.

As with the cats posed in the Frees photos, sadly one has to assume not all was happy in Dogland when these were being made. Still, in my mind I imagine instead, a series of Catville shorts with all cat casts – all singing, all dancing cat productions!

To Ruth

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Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: This card takes a few minutes to kick in. I was first attracted by the matching striped cats on either side, tails in the same position like bookends, and nice, white bibs. The mostly white cat seems to be younger and of a different origin, but it’s always hard to tell with cats.

This card was never sent, but written on the back, in a child’s writing in pencil it just says, to Ruth. In my imagination, Ruth was away and missing these kitties. (Maybe because I am just home from a long business trip – and missing my kits!)

Kim says he doesn’t see it, but I clearly see the people taking this photo, reflected in the window. There is a woman, hair up high, behind the larger of the two striped cats, and a harder to see one, perhaps a man, above the smaller one. In this way it becomes a sort of a family portrait. If your cat family is like mine, it is rare enough that three cats gather peacefully together long enough for a photo however. Definitely worth documenting.

The ABC’s of Kitties

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School scene

Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: I was watching this postcard on eBay and forgot about the auction. Kim noticed it coming up for auction and scored it for me as a Christmas gift. It is of a certain genre, but I never saw one very much like it before.

All three cats look peevish, including the one sitting on the shelf behind the little girl – what project have they been gotten into now? The one on the lap of the boy thinking, “Okay – so it’s a cat. So what?” I generally refer to that as a piss cat expression in our house.

While I am sorry for these kitties, I cannot begin to catalogue all the games I made my cat play when I was a child. I remember putting a reluctant Snoopy (patient heavy-set male, white with black spots) in a baby carriage on myriad occasions. I also distinctly remember trying to balance the cat on the back of the German Shepard – circus animals! Without success of course. (And I used to try to ride the dog like a small pony – but I guess that is a dog story.) Still, that cat slept with me and remained game for whatever I stirred up as a kid. The dog followed me around faithfully (I’m sure I was good for dropping bits of food here and there) and would have ripped anyone who tried to hurt me in two.

Kim feels strongly that I should not dress the cats up and take their picture, despite an equally strong desire on my part. I guess you never really grow up. However, I’m sure Cookie and Blackie thank Kim for saving them from that indignity.

Dawn of a New Year

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Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: As always, waking up on January 1 is a bit sobering, even to those of us who did not seek year-end oblivion the evening before. The cool gray light of that early January morning is the time when we put the old behind us and embark on resolutions and new leafs.

I bought this fellow several months ago. He looks very unhappy with the operation of photo taking and one can easily imagine him off like a bullet a moment after the shutter snapped. The strange, somewhat amorphous shape drawn around those champagne bottles look a bit like something you might start to see crawling around on the walls after several too many – or perhaps during a fit of the DT’s a la Lost Weekend?

This weird period of photo collage fascinates me – a strange marriage of commercial and homemade. Some of my other posts of this interesting medium include Cat Photo Collage and Mad Jenny. It is a nascent tributary that photography went down, but didn’t fully take hold. Not so much a false start and a dead end – although by contrast elaborate photo albums that were collaged eventually were huge in their time. There was an exhibition about it at the Met which I loved back in 2010, Playing with Pictures: the Art of Victorian Photo Collage. (Some images from it can still be seen on the Met’s website indicated above.)

Resolutions in hand, clear-eyed and determined – here’s to the very best to all in the New Year!