An entry from my blog:
Siamese if You Please
A trillion years ago (I think we had just upgraded from sandscript) I was home from school on a spring break. My room was on the second floor of the old farm house we lived in. (Now inside the city limits) My sister had a Siamese cat. I’m not talking about the flat faced things that are passed off as Siamese now-a-days. I mean the old fashion Siamese like in “Lady and the Tramp.” He was Siamese if you pleased. He was Siamese if you didn’t please. He was a mean bastard, but some how I liked him and thought we had established a modicum of respect.
I was laying face down, cross ways, on my bed when his majesty strutted into the room with a runway model cross legged walk and tail swishing over head. They way I was laying, my hands were on the floor. He spotted me and went to the death crouch. It was a game we had played often. I’d thump the floor and scratch the carpet eliciting an attack. In fairness, taking into account the weight division difference, I’d keep my forearm on the floor and only rare up with my hand. He and my hand would do combat until his blood ran too high and the bites and scratches became real. Then I’d have to break it off.
On this particular occasion things were following such a familiar path. Scratch, scratch. My opponent launched his attack and I rared my hand as he reached the battle ground. Except!
This time he leaped over my hand and attacked my face. I suddenly found 7 lbs. of Tom Cat hanging from my nose. His bottom teeth were in the right nostril and his upper in the left. In shock I stood up. BIG mistake. I’ve now got 7 lbs. of cat hanging from my nose. I tried to lift him to get the weight off my nostrils. BIGGER mistake. With a solid base he began to shake his head back and forth, trying to tear meat from my face.
All I really remember past this point was pain, but I think I must have had the presence of mind to pry those vicious jaws apart with my thumb. I just remember that suddenly the facial attack was over. I was still in pain and blinded by tears, but the destruction of my face had stopped. I do recall that I had 7 lbs. of spitting Satan wiggling in my right hand.
With unbridled anger, I threw his butt as hard as I could. I’m sure I wanted to hear a fatal splat against a wall. But at some point, in what was now a slow motion universe, I noted that the furry ball from hell was headed for one of my bedroom windows. I was slightly concerned about explaining the broken window to my parents.
I was spared the problem as the window was open. I remember thinking I’d have to console my sister over the dead car my sister in the morning. But that didn’t happen. I can still hear the scratching as he found purchase in the limbs of the tree right outside my window. He survived with less ill effect than I suffered from his attack. Me -0 Cat -1.
We kept a respectful distance for the rest of his life as I was in the process of moving into my own home.
I don’t remember when his last day was as I was on my own by then. But. I’ve got to admit I remember the rear end fondly and would like to spend a watchful few more moments with him.
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Originally Posted by willie
