I have always been an animal person, ever since I was a child. My mom said I would bring home every stray I found. When I married my husband and we moved to a new apartment, I brought with me my very elderly dog, a Spitz named Kimbie. Hubby didn’t like Kimbie and Kimbie didn’t like hubby, and I was caught in the middle. I was forced, with great heartache, to give Kimbie to my mom after a few months; life was becoming hell with the constant destruction Kimbie caused because she was jealous of hubby.
A couple of years passed and I desperately wanted a pet, but George did NOT want pets of any kind — except a Siamese cat, as he had fond memories of the breed from his childhood.
Hubby is in the Navy, and in May 2004 he was deployed for four months. Just after he left, I lost our baby at the end of the first trimester. On July 4, I fell down the steps of a friend’s boat and busted my knee pretty badly. I was in a special walking device with metal rods for months and I faced three possible surgeries to put my ligaments back together.
I was alone and I was miserable. Then in August I found an ad in the paper about Siamese kittens. I asked a friend to drive me and we walked in to find an applehead beige-and-brown mama with five kittens.
I sat down in an armchair and immediately one of the kittens climbed up on the metal frame I wore around my leg and settled into my lap for a nap, just like that.
He was the ugliest kitten I had ever seen. He did not look like a Siamese: He was white, much smaller than all the others, with huge Batman ears, very light blue eyes, and minimal hair. He looked sickly, but he seemed to like me.
We chatted a bit with the breeder and then she went to feed the kittens. The one on my lap got up excitedly and tried to jump gracefully onto the coffee table right next to me — and failed miserably, hitting his jaw on the table instead of landing on it, and he fell to the ground with legs spread apart, not unlike Pluto from the cartoons. He got up and ran, whining, to his mama.
I knew then he was the cat for me; a misfit, the runt, and clumsy just like me. Because of his “ugliness” and his obviously not being a Siamese, I got him for $50 and brought him home. I called him Beau because to me he was the most beautiful cat in the world, Batman ears and all. He hid under the table for 20 minutes, then acted as if he owned the place, as if he had always been here.
Hubby came home to a cat. The moment he saw Beau, he said, “That is not a Siamese, that’s an albino!” But he was wrong. Beau’s true colors began to surface, and pretty soon it was obvious he was a Siamese, and a rare one: a blue point! The breeder called me a few months later to ask me how Beau had turned out. I told her he was a blue point and she got all excited because her cat had delivered the same-colored kitten again!
Beau was my salvation that summer. I don’t know what I would have done without him. He took my mind away from my busted knee, my miscarried baby, and my husband’s deployment; he saved my sanity.
Beau will turn eight years old on July 1. He is my firstborn, my furry son, an equal member of the family. I sure hope what they say about Siamese is true, that they have the longest cat lifespan, because I can’t imagine my life without him.
As for hubby? The one who did not want animals? He is thinking about cloning Beau. He too can’t bear the thought that one day he will go to kitty heaven.
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