The Things Up With Which They Put!

This is Tchaikovsky, one of our Siamese cats, a.k.a. Fluffy-Puffy, Boo-Boo, and Snuggly Boots. (I love giving our cats undignified names, it serves them right; but oddly they seem to like it)



I have become convinced that cats take on the personalities of their owners over time. I noticed this first when we had guests over whom I did not know well. When the doorbell rang, the cats scrambled to hide in the basement, which was exactly what I wished I could do. Tchai turns out to love a good ride in a basket, just as Meg loves a good hellacious roller-coaster ride. We are not talking about some gentle carrying. We are talking about being vigorously swung around in the air; up, down, around, round and round with serious g-forces.



We know he likes this because he gets in and stays in the basket when available, looking a bit wild-eyed and inspired. And, he doesn't throw up (thanks be to le bon Dieu) afterwards.

And then there is Haydn. I'm not posting a picture of him because he looks just like his brother, only bigger and fatter. He is one strange puss. Most cats want to be treated with gentleness, but not him. Noooo...he likes to be smacked, tossed around and beaten up. He is known to yowl until he gets it, too. He'll rush for the stairs and hunch there until you drum on his body. Afterwards, he wiggles and purrs so violently that he slides, oozing down the stairs in a blissful, relaxed heap. I'm thinking it is a massage that he likes, but he likes it hard. I've had people get mad at me when I do it, but, dagnabbit, I declare he does like it.

Rich has been known to purr when I give him a thorough massage on the shoulders too. But I'm no husband-beater.