The Kittens' Tea Party

Victorian taxidermist Walter Potter is back in the headlines. He received a fair bit of press when his collected works hit the auction block at Bonhams a few years ago. Now the previous owners are suing the auctioneers for not accepting the lucrative offer made by none other than YBA poster boy Damien Hirst (whose latest installation can be viewed in the lobby of the Lever House just down the street from Nelson & Nelson Antiques).

With that kind of money being thrown around I don’t think I’ll ever be able to afford an actual piece of Potter-phernalia but somewhere stashed away in a box I’ve got the next best thing. My British pen pal once sent me a postcard bearing an image of The Kittens’ Tea Party tableau. Many long afternoons were spent imagining the sort of catty remarks one might hear at that table.

“Mew, what a splendid set of tea-urns!” Minnie said to her esteemed hostess, Lady Permelia.

“Why thank you, meow-meow. They’re sterling, you know – been in my family’s possession since 1833.”

“More mouse tarts!” said Florence to the waiter. In an effort to be heard over the tinkle of teaspoons and ceaseless chatter she sprayed a fine mist of pastry crumbs across the table. Theodosia swung her head to dodge the crumbs and caught the tail end of a different conversation. “Heaven forefend!” Her ginger paw leapt to cover her mouth. “HOW big was her litter?”

“Sterling my mee-ow-za,” Winnie whispered privately to Ginny. “Lady P is putting on the dog. I do believe that urn is of a Sheffield plate.”

“Meow, Maxine,” Henrietta leaned forward with a pregnant pause and a determinedly malicious glint in her eye that commanded the attention of everyone at the table (save for Florence). “Was that not Thomas I witnessed exiting your quarters by way of the alley late last Thursday night?”

All eyes turned to Little Maxie who blushed, looked down at her plate, and voiced a barely audible “Mew.”