Owning a Siamese cat seems to bring a sort of madness over the owners. This seems to be a combination of having paid an exhorbitant sum of money for a purebred animal that is an uneasy cross between Mephistopheles and Bhudda and the avaricious idea that they now owned half of the franchise to pursue such profit themselves.
My father was no less suceptible than anyone else.
Of course, to be fair, it may not have been financial dreams on my fathers part. A Siamese cat in season is a most formidable animal, as Doreen Tovey relates in her classic book, 'Cats In The Belfry'.
"The next time she came in season, Mimi ripped the seat clean out of the arm-chair, drove the whole village nearly round the bend with her bawling, and finally jumped out of the bedroom window and fled up the lane to the farm, where she was only saved from a fate worse than death by the fact that her dusky Oriental face and blazing blue eyes frightened the battle-scarred old tom who lived there nearly out of his wits, and he was still hiding behind the water-butt when Mrs. Adams, wailing and wringing her hands, panted up the hill in her wake."
-Doreen Tovey, 'Cats In The Belfry', 1957, Elek Books Ltd. pp.7
However, my mother recalls no such similar experience, so I am reasonably certain that my father was under the spell of those piercing blue eyes, (and the prospect of charging $25.00 a kitten, which was what he and mother had paid for O.C.), when he noticed an ad in the local paper.
FREE TO GIVE AWAY
Pure bred male Siamese cat
Two days later, Dad returned from what must surely have been a pair of relieved former owners and set the cat carrier on the kitchen floor.
Boots had arrived.
If O.C. embodied the finest qualities of the Siamese breed, the elegant, triangular face, the clean markings, graceful carriage, electric blue eyes and regal manner, Boots was the Wreck of the Hesperus.
Sporting what were obviously relics of a rich history of combat, one of Boots' ears had been gnawed down to shreds, while the other sported a good deal of air conditioning. Indeed, anything that emerged from his torso that could be used for purchase in time of battle had been used, (including those), and that often. His once-perfect pelt was missing patches, there were scars around his face, on every leg and his tail was a study in non-linear mechanics.
Boots was the most evil tempered animal my mother has ever seen. It was impossible to keep him in the house, and nearly every morning would see some fresh evidence of his combative nature. He apparently felt that, as the natural and duly appointed owner of the planet, it was his duty to offer combat to any being with enough chutzpah to tread on his property without his express permission.
Boots immediately took over possession of O.C. and moved into O.C.'s cat bed, making it his throne. O.C. was relegated to laying on the small portion that he made available to her, and she willingly complied. Notice of this change of ownership came not long after he arrived, when my mother called to O.C. to come and sit in her lap, something that had been quite taken for granted before. However, when O.C. got up off the bed and began to walk towards my mother, Boots issued a low, rumbling growl, not dissimilar to that of an angry Doberman. O.C. sat back down immediately and that, as they say, was the name of that tune.
In addition, Boots hated men. He never allowed my father to pet him, though my mother could. With his temper, Boots was bound for an early exit from our lives and it only took about two months for the bloom to be gone from the rose.
Though Boots was really only around to service O.C., which he accomplished with a warrior's dispatch, he could have become a member of the family in good standing. But citizenship was never Boots' long suit. His ultimate undoing came the day that my father came through the kitchen in his robe, having just taken a shower. He bent down and picked up O.C. which, in Boots' book, was tantamount to absconding with his rightful property. He leapt up and fastened his claws behind Dad's leg on the back of his robe and began to work his hind legs like pistons, leaving an impressive set of parallel scratches down the back of my father's calf. Dad roared, dropped O.C. and grabbed at Boots, but he was already gone, having recovered his property from the usurper.
The next day, an ad appeared in the local paper.
FREE TO GIVE AWAY
Pure bred male Siamese cat