O scrutable inscrutables

Today I was remembering that after visiting Universal Studios when I was 12/13ish (89-90ish!)  I saw a woman writing something at a patio table on a sunny restaurant terrace. And there was a cat that curled around her legs. She was self-possessed, happy, alone, and important-seeming (to me.) I think I sort of told myself I wanted to be like that when I grew up. O room of pale people of the male persuasion in dark suits representing the film business (I'm sure they've had other lives, just as the others have had other lives that were maler, paler, and more dark-suited as well), have a Kipling poem

or

a Grass Roots song


Sha la la la la la...