the people’s princess

February 21th 2007

Taylor Swift: How to Give a Cat Medicine

(The Eras Tour: Medicine Edition)

1. The Folklore Era: Pick up the cat as gently as if you were recording an indie-folk album in the middle of the woods. Cradle it in your arms, hum "cardigan," and when it opens its mouth, drop the pill in. Wait for it to swallow contentedly.

2. The Great Escape: Pick up the pill from the floor and the cat from inside the piano. Repeat the process, but this time wear a sequined bodysuit for extra determination.

3. Champagne Problems: Toss the soaked pill away and retrieve the cat from the bedroom. The cat's gaze is just as cold as a rejected marriage proposal.

4. The Archer: Take out a new pill. Pin down its paws with your left hand (which now cut like a "cutthroat" wind) and aim for the throat with your right. Hold its mouth shut and count to ten – or until the chorus of "Cruel Summer" is over.

5. The Squad: Retrieve the pill from the aquarium and the cat from the closet, hidden among your awards. Call your partner in from the garden.

6. Reputation Era: Kneel on the floor, pin the cat between your knees. Ignore the hissing; this is the "Look What You Made Me Do" era. Have your partner pry its mouth open with a ruler while you slide the medicine down.

7. The Lucky One: Get the cat down from the crystal chandelier. Take out a new pill. Remind yourself: the curtains and the vase are replaceable, but fame is fleeting.

8. Wildest Dreams: Wrap the cat in an unnecessarily long red silk scarf. Have your partner lay across it so only the head sticks out. Use a straw and a pencil as a blowpipe.

9. Bad Blood: Check the medication's leaflet to see if it’s toxic to pop stars, then drink a glass of wine. Put bandages on your partner’s face and wash the blood out of the carpet.

10. 1989 (Taylor’s Version): Retrieve the cat from the neighbor’s penthouse terrace. Put the cat in a designer bag with only its head sticking out. Pry its mouth open with a silver teaspoon and shoot the pill in using a hair tie.

11. Shake It Off: Bring the toolbox in from the garage and fix the buckles on the bag. Put ice on your black eye and check your tetanus shot status. Throw away your shredded t-shirt.

12. Out of the Woods: Call the fire department to get the cat down from the neighbor’s pine tree. Apologize to the neighbor who crashed into their own fence because of the cat. Take out one last pill.

13. Vigilante Shit: Duct tape the cat’s legs to the dining table. Put on welding gloves, pry its mouth open with a crowbar, and pour a liter of water down its throat.

14. The Tortured Poets Department: Ask your partner to drive you to the ER. While the doctor stitches up your fingers, write a six-line poem about the pain. Order a new dining table on the way home.

15. Karma: Call the vet and convince them to do a house call.

Queen Victoria with her great-grandchildren Prince Albert (Bertie), Prince Edward (David) and Princess Mary, September 1898. Photo by Robert Milne. // NPG

‘Of the six children of the Duke and Duchess of York, the first three constituted a group by themselves. Less than three years separated the eldest from the youngest, and Prince Albert was eighteen months younger than his brother and sixteen months older than his sister. This position as the second of the three was not advantageous to his development. By nature a shy, nervous and affectionate child, easily frightened and somewhat prone to tears, he compared unfavourably with the gaiety of his more forthcoming elder brother and the inevitable charms of his baby sister. As a result he was apt to drop into the background and even to be ignored altogether. For example, Queen Victoria in her diary [on May 10, 1898] records a visit from them as follows: “The dear little York children came, looking very well. David is a delightful child, so intelligent, nice and friendly. The baby is a sweet pretty little thing.” There is no recorded impression of little Bertie.’