A Touching Memory of Victorian Britain: The Cats Meat Man
Cats, Cats Meat Man, Dogs, Victorian Britain
In Good Queen Victoria’s day, you did not buy your pet food at the supermarket. It was delivered door-to-door.
Kathryn Hughes shares a fascinating detail of daily life in London in times gone by.
On January 10, 1901, twelve days before Queen Victoria did the unthinkable and died, 250 cat’s meat men sat down to a slap-up dinner at a restaurant in Holborn, on the edge of central London. A cat’s meat man was an itinerant vendor who pushed a cart of cheap offal and horsemeat around residential streets while calling out something that sounded like “CA-DOE-MEE!” Sometimes he stopped at a house and delivered a pre-ordered package of meat, often threaded onto a long skewer. At the same time, his shout was the signal for householders and domestics to come out onto the pavement and buy their pets’ food straight from the barrow. For all that cats were supposed to cater for themselves by catching kitchen pests, urban owners increasingly found the money from the household budget to supplement their board.
Within minutes of the cat’s meat man embarking on his circuit, the barrow would be surrounded by felines, some of whom had perfectly good homes to go to and others who did not but still hoped that a sliver of flesh might fall their way. Although there were plenty of grim jokes circulating about how cat’s meat men supplied the toughest meat they could get away with, the fact was that many of these rough diamonds were known for their tender hearts. It was not unusual to spot a cat’s meat man slipping scraps to the hopeful strays that wound around his ankles. He was their guardian, their special friend. Sometimes he could even bring about fairy-tale transformations: no less a lady than the Duchess of Bedford had recently adopted a stray that had been rescued by her local London cat’s meat man.
During the middle years of Victoria’s reign, the cat’s meat man, in his livery of blue apron, shiny black hat, and corduroy trousers, had become a gift to investigative journalists of an anthropological turn. In his London Labour and the London Poor (1851), Henry Mayhew plunges deep into their visible yet still mysterious world. According to Mayhew, there were a thousand such traders in London, serving about 300,000 cats, one for every house (allowing for multiple cats in some homes, plus strays).
