i was reading the very funny DavisW’s Blog which has two just fabulous interviews with his three cats. Remember, he came up with cat condoms first!
Anyway, the lovely pictures and funny text made me think of my own three cats, all sadly deceased, and how much i’d love a new cat. We can’t have animals here at all, in the House of Mould. They’ll let the roof leak, but heaven forbid we might have the comfort of a pet of any kind.
The first thing Mr Bastard and I want when we move is a kitten or probably a pair. We’d like Siamese if we can find a chunky old-style one, but otherwise we’re both smitten with Burmese too.
I like all animals, but cats in particular are my people. When i was a baby, Mum had a pair of Siamese who acted as my nursemaids, and were incredibly tolerant. I remember having my head in the tom’s belly and pushing him across the floor like that.
They were a breeding pair of Seal Point Siamese, a few months older than me, Tarzan and Jane, supposed to make Mum a fortune. She’d grown up with Siamese too, so it seemed the perfect business for a young Mum.
One problem, Jane was a slut. She’d get ‘with kitten’ to the black tom at the pub down the hill, and then come home, drop the litter for Tarzan to look after, which he did, while she went off gallivanting. He’d be sitting there, purring, little black kittens tumbling all over him, the proud dad.
After three litters of coal-black kittens, (Siamese are born white), Mum and Dad had enough and they were sold to separate homes. That was the last we heard of Jane, but Tarzan wasn’t going to let us go.
He turned up on the doorstep inside a day, from about five miles away, yowling abuse at my parents for sending him away. So we lived with a tom until I was seven.
He was very well behaved with people, trained us kids smartly in what he’d put up with, which was a heck of a lot, and never sprayed near the house. He did get into fights with other toms in the neighbourhood. I don’t know why my parents didn’t keep him in tom’s quarters, or at least in at night, but they never did. Amateur breeders can be a menace. Also, they’d never heard of an indoor cat.
Mum started getting worried about his ears getting ripped up with his fighting, so had him done at the age of seven – and he sailed through it despite all the people who say, omg, don’t neuter an older cat! He also didn’t get fat. He lived ‘til he was fourteen, which is old for a Siamese. By then his teeth were snaggled, but he still kept us in line with a swat of his paw.
Now, you may think, you’re safe. Your autocratic ball of fluff doesn’t have the distinctive point markings. In fact, he’s a baby ginger tom. Maybe a cute calico girl.
I hate to break it to you, but look at the ears. Yep, big ears means probably Siamese blood – could be Burmese. Either way, you’d better be preparing for a life of servitude. Don’t worry, they’ll make you laugh too.
Now, cats think they own us. It’s one of those things. However, Siamese, they’re different. They know they are Supreme Beings. Simple. We may worship Them. If They are in the mood.
People talk about freaky kids who were raised by wolves, and how young Wolfboy never did like his meat well-done. Me, i was raised by Siamese. It’s the only thing that explains me. Zen and the Art of World Domination isn’t a life path for just anyone. Omniscience means i can still hit you with my paw with my eyes crossed.
People always say, “Tiddles never lets anyone touch him” as their cat comes up to me, lets me pet it, then usually leaps into my lap and purrs at me. Often the owner gets a bit jealous as Tiddles makes a fuss of me and lets me do stuff to him when usually he won’t even come when called.
You shouldn’t be jealous. They recognise me, that’s all.
Yep, I’m white on the outside, Siamese on the inside.