I am sitting here thinking about my cat; pitying her, and myself as well. She is a Siamese with a most impressive paperwork lineage. One of the creme de la creme in a breed which is held above many other breeds, in a species which holds itself above all other animals. We do not allow the poor thing to be a cat much less the queen she was destined to be. It is saddening. Whether they are lions, tigers, manx, or Siamese, cats in general have an attitude. They are the most regal predators ever to inhabit the planet. The Siamese takes this attitude to the nth degree. My wife had gotten her kitten, Ming, because she was the mouthiest of the litter. Siamese are much more talkative than other cats, so this is saying something. Patrice had planned to show the cat, and to that end, handled her a lot to get her used to it. There is a three bite rule in effect with the Cat Fanciers Association (CFA) to protect the judges. It is a lifetime rule. The cat is allowed to bite someone, like say its first show, then later, maybe years, bite someone else. When the cat accumulates three bites total, it is no longer allowed to be shown. Ming earned her ban during her first show; bam, bam, bam, nailed three different judges. Patrice saw the two hundred fifty dollars she had paid for the kitten, trickle down the judges arms. Ming kept that attitude. She is now fourteen years old and still hates men and children, she tolerates other females. Her ancestors were bred as attack animals to patrol the palaces of Siam. These were not mere mousers, these were animals bred for size and ferocity. Their job was to harm and delay intruders until a human guard could be summoned by the din to invstigate. We have been breeding this ferocity out of them for many years now, but sometimes, you get these genetic throwbacks. Ming guards constantly. We wake and she is pacing the house looking for intruders. We go to sleep and she is sitting at the foot of the bed looking out the door, waiting, waiting. On weekends when we are home, she sits in the window threatening the strays that make our porch their home. Ming has no sense of territory at all, if she can see it, it is hers. Ming was also instrumental in my wife knowing that I was the man she would marry. Her highness had run off all her other dates at one time or other. I went to pick up Patrice for our date and waited in the living room for her to finish getting ready. Patrice warned me to leave the cat alone, she would bite. Patrice came out a few minutes later to find Ming curled in my lap purring. This struck Patrice as very odd, seemed normal to me though. I get along well with cats: I have petted lions, tigers, and pumas, a Siamese did not bother me at all. If she had owned a dog, we would both probably be single still. In fact, the cat sleeps on my side of the bed half the time. It is an honor, as Ming will remind me constantly. The reason I am taking pity on my noble companion, (one does not "own" a cat, you share space, and only if the cat deems you worthy) is that she needs to do the things that make her a cat, and can not. She was bred and had a litter, then was spayed, I think she is comfortable with that department. She also hunts the occasional roach that invades our home. We once had mice and she would go nowhere near them, so I think she is happy hunting the stray insect snack. She has food, water, love, the run of the house, command of all she surveys, what could she possibly need? She has no sense of territory because she is an indoor cat and owns everything she can get to. The outside cats must fight and establish this. Fighting for territory and pecking order are natural for cats, so is the family bonding that arises from this. It is also the reason most of the strays in my neighborhood die young. To make your own mistakes, fail or succeed, live or die because of them, that is the definition of an adult, cat or otherwise. I have sympathy for her because I understand her. I can still remember too vividly the triumphant feeling of bone cracking beneath my young knuckles. I smile then immediately frown, remembering the sickening feeling of bone cracking beneath my own skin, busted ribs never heal in memory. It was to my advantage to "grow up," we never allowed Ming the same privilege. To her mind, she is still a youngster, full of piss and vinegar. Even if I do not like it, I take responsibility for keeping my cat inside, protecting her from harm by protecting her from "growing up." But this is all the "bad" responsibility I am willing to take on. I get solicited daily from many charitable organizations, some of them very good ones. I do believe in charity, a helping hand. Some however, want me to tell the poor downtrodden how to live and provide for it, "for their own good." Am I really qualified to make those decisions for adults? Half the time Ming snuggles against me purring, the other half the time she yowls out the window, her fur fluffed, hissing her challenge to all she sees. Would she be happier living outside, probably dying after just a few days of freedom? Possibly. I just can't bring myself to let her go. Would the homeless be happier being kept in a cage, fed and watered daily? Possibly. Truth is, I just don't know, and I am not willing to make that decision for them.©MichaelWest