Chris Pascoe’s Fun Tales

Chris – unsuccessfully – ponders the world of cats in several languages

Well, I heard a great story the other day. It was about a Chinese lady with little English who, on discovering a mouse in her hotel room, immediately phoned down to reception.

When reception answered, she suddenly realised she had no idea of the English word for mouse, or how to report the situation. What she then said was one of the most charmingly wonderful things I’ve ever heard…

“Hello. Tom & Jerry? Jerry’s here.” I love that! Nevertheless, it puts me in mind of a wholly less charming piece of translation in a French hotel we once visited with my parents.

Having crossed the channel on a special offer ferry ticket (full price, but with a free bottle of any wine we don’t like) we checked into our hotel. It was a note on the hotel-restaurant door that caught my eye:

Dinner guests please to note–if you have any strange dietary requirements, please expose yourself to restaurant staff.

I don’t have any strange dietary requirements, but my Dad does. We decided to eat in town that night.

Dad has had a few translation problems of his own in the past, most notably on the first night of his honeymoon. Attempting to impress Mum but failing miserably (he certainly started as he meant to carry on) he attempted to order desserts in Spanish.

Five minutes later he was served a gigantic bowl of vinegar. He can’t remember what it was he actually tried to order, but knowing him as I do, it was probably… a gigantic bowl of vinegar!

Not that I have any room to comment. On another French trip – on this occasion house-sitting for a friend while looking after her umpteen cats – a French woman came to my door one day (they have a lot of French women in France). We were unable to understand each another, but the fact she kept repeating the word “chat” and pointing at the road soon had me alarmed and carrying out a feline head count. All were present – except one, named Lottie.

I frantically searched the house – no sign. Just as my heart began to sink, I finally spotted her.

Another much larger cat had settled in his bed, not worrying at all that Lottie was already in it. Only a worried pointy-eared face protruded from beneath his giant furry midriff.

Relieved, I returned to my visitor, who’d been waiting patiently at the door. As our conversation continued, my attempts at French led her to firmly believe I was German.

Finally I grabbed my laptop, and through GoogleTranslate, we were able to establish that she lived next door, and couldn’t find her ginger and white cat.

I later found out that the literal French translation of my typed response must have made me look rather odd: I have not seen a cat of these colours. If I see one, I will tell him about you.

She shook her head and left. I found her cat in the lounge an hour later. It bit me.

Chris Pascoe is the author of A Cat Called Birmingham and You Can Take the Cat Out of Slough, and of Your Cat magazine’s column Confessions of a Cat Sitter.