A Very Fine Cat Indeed

 I recently posted a couple of Venetian-themed poems by Robin Saikia which had impressed me. Seeking to find out more about this little-known but clearly talented poet, I discovered that he had published, in 2020, a dramatic monologue titled A Very Fine Cat Indeed, devoted to Dr Johnson's beloved Hodge. Naturally I bought a copy, but I'm sorry to report that I found it disappointing. What I was hoping would be a dramatic monologue in the Browning line turned out to be a short piece for the stage, in which Johnson mourns the recently dead Hodge. The monologue blends real and imagined events, and includes some well-known moments from Boswell. Saikia catches Johnson's voice pretty well, but without achieving enough sonority or depth to give a full impression of the man. The piece seems like a thin watercolour sketch when something more like an oil painting is called for. To make matters worse, there is some seriously bad proof-reading. The opening paragraph of the Introduction begins thus:

'When I first had the idea of writing a dramatic monologue about Hodge, I began by trying to found [sic] out what, if anything, had been previously been [sic] attempted in this line.' What he found was Samuel Beckett's dramatic fragment Human Wishes, in which a sleeping Hodge (stage direction asleep, if possible) is present. Saikia describes the play as being 'largely about Johnson's relationship with Hester Thrale and her circle'. Really? That doesn't sound much like the play I read and wrote about five years ago...  

  The saving grace of A Very Fine Cat Indeed is that the slim volume is padded out with five Appendices. One is 'An Elegy on the Death of Dr Johnson's Favourite Cat' by Percival Stockdale (a rival of Johnson's), a mock-heroic work beginning 'Let not the honest Muse disdain/For Hodge to wake the plaintive strain' and ending 'Let Virtue in they [sic] bosom lodge;/Or wish thou hadst been born a Hodge.' Another is Leigh Hunt's account of Johnson stepping out to buy oysters for Hodge. Then there are some thoughts on animals by Jeremy Bentham, and Christopher Smart's 'Jeoffry' (from Jubilate Agno) – 'For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry...' New to me was this charming poem by Susan Coolidge (of What Katy Did fame). Slightly rose-tinted perhaps, but a fine tribute to Johnson the cat-lover – 

Burly and big, his books among,
Good Samuel Johnson sat,
With frowning brows and wig askew,
His snuff-strewn waistcoat far from new;
So stern and menacing his air,
That neither Black Sam,
nor the maid
To knock or interrupt him dare;
Yet close beside him, unafraid,
Sat Hodge, the cat.

"This participle," the Doctor wrote,
"The modern scholar cavils at,
But," – even as he penned the word,
A soft, protesting note was heard;
The Doctor fumbled with his pen,
The dawning thought took wings and flew,
The sound repeated, come again,
It was a faint, reminding "Mew!"
From Hodge, the cat...

The Dictionary was laid down,
The Doctor tied his vast cravat,
And down the buzzing street he strode,
Taking an often-trodden road,
And halted at a well-known stall:
"Fishmonger," spoke the Doctor gruff,
"Give me six oysters, that is all;
Hodge knows when he has had enough,
Hodge is my cat."

Then home; puss dined and while in sleep
he chased a visionary rat,
His master sat him down again,
Rewrote his page, renibbed his pen;
Each "i" was dotted, each "t" was crossed,
He labored on for all to read,
Nor deemed that time was waste or lost
Spent in supplying the small need
Of Hodge, the cat.

The dear old Doctor! Fierce of mien,
Untidy, arbitrary, fat,
What gentle thought his name enfold!
So generous of his scanty gold.
So quick to love, so hot to scorn,
Kind to all sufferers under heaven,
A tend'rer despot ne'er was born;
His big heart held a corner, even
For Hodge, the cat.