Yesterday we took our two rescue flame-point Siamese (ahem) cats for their annual checkup and shots. Our cats were great with our long-time vet’s new associate. She listened to their hearts (all good), took their temps (again, all good), weighed them — Odie weighs 12.1 pounds and Apollo checks in at 12.5 pounds — and gave them a once over visually. She also confirmed what my daughter Tory and I suspected all along…our monster-sized white cats with the lovely flame points are not 100% Siamese.
When is a Siamese not a Siamese? When the rescue organization who vouches for them doesn’t tell you the truth. Tory said she suspected as soon as Odie found his voice, which doesn’t remotely resemble the Siamese yowl. And I suspected it with every clump of hair I vacuumed off the carpets those first few months. And twice a week, every week, ever since. Siamese don’t shed that much, my friends.
We’ve owned four purebred Siamese over the years and we can say with a great deal of authority that the breed is lean, smart, playful and chatty. A Siamese quickly learns right from wrong, can be taught many tricks and is a boon companion no matter what your mood. That’s the behaviors we expected when we adopted these two rescue kits. At first, we thought that perhaps they were a little slow since our two newest “Siamese” are outliers in every category! As they grew and grew, they began to shred furniture (Apollo) and chew anything crinkly (Odie). They refused to learn right from wrong when I tried to redirect them from their bad behaviors. Squirt guns and aluminum foil draped over the furniture were treated as new challenges. My furniture has never looked this bad, nor have I had to hide every crinkly bag for fear Odie would chew a hole through it and whatever new product was inside the bag.
And the shedding? It’s out of control. I positively bristle white cat fur. I am considering switching to all-white outfits. And I look lousy in white. We keep lint rollers in every room and in our cars to help us de-fur prior to going out in public!
I suspect that Brutus, our 13-year-old purebred Siamese who weighs maybe 8 pounds soaking wet, knew from the start he was dealing with tabbies; sure, he was patient with the youngsters, but the older they got and the larger they grew, the less patient Brutus became with them. When the two blondes act out now, Brutus yowls in aggravation; then he leaps up and runs over and grabs the offending kit by the throat and “stomps” him into silence! It’s quite a scene to see a tubby tabby submit to a greater brain.
Reality has set in for us. We have to adjust our thinking when it comes to the four-legged blondes in our home: We have two mixed breed kits that think like
tabbies American Shorthairs. Because they are. Mostly.
- They don’t particularly like to be picked up and petted.
- They don’t particularly like to sit on our laps and cuddle.
- They don’t chat with us; in fact, they don’t much like to use their voices.
- They do like to eat.
- They do love to shred the furniture and don’t care if they get squirted with water while doing it.
- They don’t seem to mind the feel of aluminum foil on their teeth; I used it to “protect” the upholstered dining room chair from destruction, to no avail!
- They like to chew crinkly sounding bags and anything else that comes into the house and isn’t put away immediately.
- They do like to watch the birds at the windows, but they regularly smack their heads on the glass in their vain attempts to catch said birds.
In short, we are now owned by two regular cats. And we’d better get used to it.