Cats I

My mother's condo is home to three cats: Zoe, Bella and Besame. Zoe and Bella came with one of my sisters, Besame with the other.

Mother used to say that the most polite child gets first pick of--whatever. That being the rule, Zoe's story comes first.

Zoe was about a year old when Linus first saw her at a private shelter called "Bide-A-Wee," just a mottled cream, gray and apricot backside under a sign that said, "Watch this one. She's not eating." The attendant opened the cage and lifted her out. Zoe didn't protest, but it was clear she wasn't interested in being sociable.

What Linus saw was a mostly blue point Siamese with some interesting calico shadings scattered through her coat. Her toes are white, her legs, tail and mask gray with an apricot "Harry Potteresque" blaze over one eye. While many Siamese are cross eyed, Zoe is slightly wall eyed. And somewhere back in her genes there stalks a lioness--her front feet toe out when she walks, like a lioness on the hunt.

Something happened when the attendant set Zoe down in the "get aquainted" area that no one--not Linus, not her friend, Kura, who was with her, not the attendant--can explain, though a breeder might:

Siamese cats were originally bred as guard animals and, as such, they tend to bond with one person. In Zoe's case, that person was Linus. Zoe is polite to me (I wield the can opener), comfortable with E. J. (our mother), tolerant of M. J. (our other sister) and the other cats, but Linus is her human and that is that. She'll put up with car trips, airport security, a 3,000 plane ride and a new home as long as that person is within range of her sight/hearing/scent.

Zoe is also a talker. She doesn't have the "fingernails on blackboard" squall of some Siamese, but she has an amazing range of vocalizations, some of which we can sort of translate, but most of which we can only guess at. One of these days, someone will invent a universal translater that will convert Feline into English. I, for one, can hardly wait.