May it please your Honour… Macavity!

This morning, I am shadowing my Learned Pupil Master before Magistrate Mrs Goblin. Our client has been arrested for eight counts of larceny of fish (!!!) and we are applying for his release on bail at the Remand Court. The arrival of the blue prison van, which inmates affectionately call Black Maria, is like an incessant waltz of bad looking and dejected guys. They look like they come straight from an album of “Les Pieds Nickelés”. To me, they only look guilty of being badly dressed. But then, my Pupil Master would be as guilty. The gown, tunic shirt, band and stiff collar are the pride of the legal profession. Before the suspension of the death penalty, judges used to wear a black cap whenever they would pass sentence. Legal dresses are the remnants of the profession being a vocation. Without proper dressing, a magistrate or judge can refuse to “see” lawyers. My Pupil Master bought his fading gown not from Ede and Ravenscroft, but from the family of a dead barrister whilst his stiff collar is… well he does not have any stiff collar he only fixes his brownish, loosely hanging band to a normal shirt – which I suspect is short-sleeved since I never seen his sleeves! True, though the cuffs of his jacket are much longer than his arms, the other parts of the jacket seem tight. Fortunately in Mauritius, a Barrister does not have to wear a wig. But my Pupil Master would prefer one… at all times… to hide his bald head. Her Honour Mrs Goblin is always very strict on discipline in her court. She conducts proceedings with the military zeal of a martial court. She would also take over the role of the usher and yell at detainees or the public: “SIT DOWN PROPERLY! TUCK YOUR SHIRT IN! WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!? SILENCE!” She would remind everyone that the court is HERS and would also go berserk if anyone’s phone goes off and would even seize the guilty apparatus and fine the culprit. After all, she is there to uphold the Rule of Law. However, her thick glasses remind me of my kindergarten teacher. Upon the call of our client’s name, my Pupil Master, who only read the file on his way to court, stands up and addresses the court: “May it please Your Honour I appear for the Accused,” before making an application for bail. The Police Prosecutor objects and reads the eight charges of larceny of fish. Her Honour Mrs Goblin looks gobsmacked and tells the client: “You committed all these thefts!” My Pupil Master, without uttering any further word, would “humbly” leave matters in the hands of the court. My body is in effervescence but I freeze just in case Mrs Goblin storms at me for moving a limb. I fall as always into my imaginary exchanges since this is all I can do to help my Pupil Master:

“Your Honour may I remind the court of an elementary principle of our criminal justice system?”
“Yes what is it Counsel?” she responds disinterestedly.
“It is that of the presumption of innocence your Honour. My client is innocent until proven guilty.”
“Yes Counsel, the evidence from the victim against your client is pretty compelling!” She stares at me now.
“Are you wasting the precious time of this court?”
“Not ‘victim’ Your Honour ‘Complainant’. We do not know yet whether the complainant has been victim of anything,” I reply calmly whilst ignoring her stare. “And in the event my client is found innocent, the Police is never accused of wasting the time of my client for the time he spent locked with his chamber pot in the nick.” She now looks at me like Queen Victoria during her worse period.
“Get on with your application Counsel,” she hisses whilst watching the wallclock, as if the knell will soon toll for me. She puts her hand on her head like she would put on an invisible black cap and pass the death sentence on me!

Inspector Croquenot, called by the Prosecutor to sustain the charges against the accused, admits that the only evidence against the client is a mere suspicion and that there is no scientific evidence against the accused since he left no clues.

“It must have been Macavity then!” I say.
“Maka who? Counsel?” Interjects her Honour Goblin with her eyes popping out from their sockets.
“Macavity the Mystery Cat,” I say. Her Honour Mrs Goblin bangs her pen on the table like a gavel and hits the usher who was nodding off. He smiles at me embarrassingly and nods off again as Mrs Goblin’s creepy and pedantic voice is like a lullaby to him. I enlighten the court further:

Macavity is a Mystery Cat: he’s called the Hidden Paw – For he’s the master criminal who can defy the Law. He’s the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad’s despair: For when they reach the scene of crime – Macavity is not there! Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity, He’s broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity. His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare, And when you reach the scene of crime – Macavity is not there! You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air – But I tell you once and once again, Macavity is not there! Macavity is a ginger cat, he is very tall and thin; You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in. His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed; His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed. He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake; And when you think he is half asleep, he is always wide awake. Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity, For he is a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity. You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square— But when a crime’s discovered, then Macavity’s not there! Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity, There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity. He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare: At whatever time the deed took place – MACAVITY WASN’T THERE! And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known. Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime! Without further ado, the bail application was set aside and the client remanded to jail. Out of the court of territorial Mrs Goblin, I carry my Pupil Master’s files back to Chambers on my head like Robinson Crusoe’s Man Friday (my way of protesting and embarrassing my Pupil Master) at the sake of bringing the profession into disrepute. I am relieved that this exchange was only imaginary and that there exists no such magistrates or barristers in this jurisdiction. Meow.