Since 1999, I have had my own Siamese. Before that, my parents had my Siamese. He was brought into our family for me, but unfortunately, I couldn’t take him to university with me. He never forgave me.
The first Siamese to share our home was a seal point apple headed girl we named Ayesha, after Erik’s cat in Susan Kay’s Phantom. She lived to 12, and was the only cat that I can say that I’ve ever seen that put me to shame for being allergic to damn near everything. When she passed on, we decided that we were going to go on without a Siamese in our lives.
That lasted less than six months.
We ventured into the middle of nowhere in Quebec to bring home our current boy, and he was a little stinker (literally) from the word go.
Now, almost 6 years later, I am sitting back and smiling. I have the most laid back ginger meezer in the world I think. He gets along with damn near everyone. I have never seen a Siamese like this. If he doesn’t like you, I’m going to say no to you as well, because his weird-o-meter is very well attuned.
He likes to get on my desk, demanding to be cuddled, at the worst times. I think he knows when I’m trying to get things done. He’s chewed more cables than I care to think about, and done things that I just raise my eyebrows at. He follows me everywhere I go, and when I am feeling blue, is there in a flash to cuddle with me, purring and kneading.
This cat is the source of many Instagram posts, because he’s either just that photogenic or in my face to the point I can’t avoid him. Some days, I don’t know which it is.
I love ya, ya stinky bastard. Now, can I get some work done?