The British Museum has a swell post and podcast about its cats. For years there were feral cats hanging around the Museum, and then most were “eliminated” (best not to ask questions). Then, for two decades, they took care of a half dozen cats to keep the mouse population down. You can read the story, but I’d recommend listening to the podcast because of the Received Pronunciation of the speakers, the anecdotes that are funnier when spoken, and the funny names of the Museum Cats:
This is the old sign that got Nick Harris interested in the story:

The Museum eventually decided to remove their feline inhabitants, and a dedicated group of volunteer staff brought the population down to just six (all through very humane means). At this point a cleaner called Rex Shepherd (who became known to staff as the Cat Man) formed the Cat Welfare Society. For the next 20 years, Rex and the Society kept the Museum cat population healthy and at a manageable number.
This group of cats consisted of Suzie, who spent much of her time prowling the Museum’s colonnade waiting to catch pigeons in mid-air, Pippin and Poppet who could roll over on command (all you had to say was ‘sayonara’) and Wilson, named after the British Museum director Sir David Wilson (who did not like cats). The cats even became an international phenomenon thanks to the coverage they received from the media during the 1980s and 1990s. But for all that coverage, the only reason I now know anything about them is thanks to an outdated sign stuck to a wall en route to the Museum canteen.

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The Cheezburger Site has a “Caturday collection” of some of its best photos. Here are a few. The first is an all-time classic:
This is a great one:
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Finally, a sad email from reader Ginger, who sent photos and a memoriam for her late cat:
My sweet little baby girl kitteh Daphne Lucky Squeaky died on 8/31/17. She was in terminal renal failure. She had no quality of life, so I sent her to Ceiling Cat. She is my second kitteh I lost this year. The first was Timmy Starr Garcia on 1/5/17.Daphne was a quiet, shy little girl. She spent most of her time hiding under the bed because the late Timmy Starr picked on her a lot. When she was out she loved spending time with her boyfriend Taber Socks. She adored Taber. She slept next to him, put her arms around him, groomed hm, sat with him. Unfortunately, Taber Socks rarely reciprocated. But little Daphne remained undaunted in her affections. Her name Lucky means that we were lucky to find each other. She got the name Squeaky because she didn’t meow; she squeaked like a hinge that needs some WD40.
Little Daphne loved breakfast cereal. Not the sugary kind, but plain flakes like Special K. She’d always beg me for some. Of course I let her have a flake or two and she was satisfied.I miss my little girl. Lucy Lucky Sweetpea is looking for her sister. They’ve never been separated. I got them together at the pound; they were in the same cage. Naturally, Daphne was afraid of me at the pound. When I removed her from her cage, I said to her, “you don’t have to be scared, little girl. I’m your new Mama.” All her life she was tiny, probably the runt of the litter.
I love you, Daphne. I’m glad we were in each other’s lives for 15 years.
h/t: Paul, Malcolm, Michael













