Cat the Great and the Cats
Wednesday, 15 May 2024 07:23
It was Empress Elizabeth who first employed cats. In 1745, finding the imperial residence overrun by rodents, Elizabeth issued a decree ordering that cats from the city of Kazan should be brought to her court, specifically 'better cats, the largest ones, able to catch mice, and accompanied by a person who will look after their health'. This was a big military operation: Kazan is around 1500 km from St Petersburg and is the capital of Tatarstan; Kazan cats are strapping feline units and ferocious hunters, so it was a bit like ordering in the marines. It was a great success.
When Catherine took over the Empress role, she continued the practice. The gung-ho cats from Kazan had dwindled to a memory, as the entire corps had been neutered. This may have prevented overpopulation, but did mean that there was no breeding stock. So in 1764, when Catherine kickstarted her new cultural agenda by establishing an art gallery in the Hermitage, one of the smaller buildings in the palace complex, there were no cats to do the mousework. Scouts were sent out, and more skilled vermin hunters were recruited. The Palace was an animal friendly zone; Catherine had around 300 pets of various kinds, and the preferred imperial cat breed was the Russian blue. She used to confer them on ambassadors and fellow royals as diplomatic gifts.
Cats continued to work with the Romanovs until 1917, when the revolution struck and the royal family fled eastwards to Ekaterinburg in an attempt to escape their doom. They took their dogs, but left the cats behind. When the palace was stormed, the cats survived. Post revolution, St Petersburg became Leningrad, the whole palace became a museum, and the cats held on to their jobs. The end came during World War II and the siege of Leningrad, which lasted from 1941 to 1944. The Hermitage cats perished, along with 1.5 million people, of starvation or disease. No cats were left to guard the museum.
Very soon after the end of the war, there was a feline recruitment drive to re-establish the Hermitage Vermin Control Unit. Signing your cat up became an act of patriotism, and the corps was soon up to full strength.
Today there are around 70 felines on the staff. Some are descendants of the postwar intake, others are passing freelancers who join in, sort of rat-catching ronins. They wander the museum freely, and are based in the tunnels and cellars under the Hermitage, where you can visit if you get all arted out. They get regular food, cosy beds, strokes and tickles on request, have their own hospital and even their own art gallery, hung with pictures of them drawn by visiting children.
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