Victor Mather
There is a rule of live performance that even a year-fiver playing Beth in Little Women knows: after you die on stage, you don’t move. Don’t scratch an itch; don’t sneeze. Do absolutely nothing.
The skills of a ballet performer whose character had just expired were put severely to the test in Turkey last week when a ginger cat wandered onstage during a performance of the Romeo and Juliet ballet by Prokofiev.
In Act 3 of Shakespeare’s play, on which the ballet is based, Romeo declares: “Heaven is here where Juliet lives. And every cat and dog and little mouse, every unworthy thing, live here in heaven and may look on her.” Perhaps that is the moment that an innovative production might bring on a carefully wrangled cat.
Unfortunately, the appearance of the cat at Wednesday’s performance came at a far worse time.
Romeo had just died, after taking poison in the mistaken belief that his beloved Juliet was dead. The dancer playing Romeo had finished performing for the evening. He merely had to play dead and think about his after-theatre drink.
The cat had other ideas.
In a video published by Reuters, the cat at first sits composedly right by Romeo. Then it begins biting and scratching his head. With superhuman composure, Romeo does not flinch.
Juliet then pulls off a seeming bit of inspirational improvisation. She drags Romeo by his legs away from the cat, an act rarely seen in traditional productions of the tragic finale. She then resumes her mourning.
The cat seems to think over its options, then jumps on a table, and no further interference is recorded.
Shakespeare mentioned or referred to cats dozens of times in his plays. This was not supposed to be one of them.
And here we are obligated by the time-hallowed traditions of journalism to make one or more absolutely terrible puns or plays on words combining felines and Shakespeare.
Ready?
The ballet company, which brought the show to Izmir, and officials at the theatre did not respond to questions about the incident, so it remains unknown if the cat will be back for a return engagement.
Maybe in The Winter’s Tail, Mouser for Mouser, Two Noble Kitsmen or one of the hiss-tory plays.
Ugh. You’ve got to be kitten me. That was simply a-paw-ling.
This article originally appeared in The New York Times.
