Post last updated: March 4th, 2018
I think I may have hit the jackpot in the Neurotic Cat Department with my Siamese, Zorro. When it comes to Siamese, I do have a basis of comparison. I once had a Snowshoe Siamese given to me as a kitten. He had enough “regular” cat in him to have the pretty, rounded head and his temperament was normal. Zorro has a pointed nose and, presumably, more Siamese DNA. Plus, there’s nothing normal about him unless he’s merely missing a few of his faculties.
I don’t want to overstate my case but he’s been driving me wonky and I don’t need a cat adding to my troubled psychology. In no particular order, let me give you a few examples of his neurotic behavior:
He is a 4 legged alarm clock. The wailing to be fed starts at 6 a.m. You have not lived until you have heard a Siamese cat wail with lungs more powerful than a horse.
He likes to burrow under the covers.
A few hours after I put a new Seresto flea and tick collar on him, he had bit one of the little amber pieces off. Two weeks later, he had chewed off so many of them I removed the collar.
I often clean receipts out of my wallet at the dining room table. If I wad up a receipt and drop it temporarily on the table, Zorro makes a flying leap for it and off he goes. Sometimes it takes days for a receipt to show up again.
Zorro holds me responsible for inclement weather. Every 10 minutes, he wants me to open the door so he can see if I have fixed the weather. Once he becomes deeply discouraged, he runs to the back door and wails because he wants to check the weather on that side of the house, too.
I returned from errands on a day we had a real monsoon. Whiskey was on the porch and Zorro was UNDER the porch, wailing piteously. I think he wanted me to crawl under there and get him so that he wouldn’t get drenched in the rain. Of course, I was unwilling to do that. It’s bad enough that I have to butler both the front and back doors because I allowed myself to become a cat butler. I am NOT adding porch crawls to my list of duties.
Periodically, he goes inside my office closet, climbs up a 3-step ladder to the top and sits there wailing about the indignities of his life.
The day I put flea meds on him, I threw him out of the house because I don’t want that stuff all over my linens. Zorro was not happy being tossed out of the house because he hunts at night and sleeps all day in my bed. Every time he snuck back in, I threw him out. After the tenth time, he was so mad he stood on the front porch steps glowering at me and swishing his tail.
He gets his annual shots at the mobile vet. Right off the bat, the vet wants to know why Zorro is missing patches of fur. I explained that he was enthusiastic about grooming himself. Immediately, the vet diagnoses him as “OCD” (obsessive compulsive disorder). You will be so proud of me. I did not collapse into paroxysms of unrestrained hootin’ and hollerin’. I waited until I got everyone in the car, with all the windows rolled up, and THEN I slapped the steering wheel and hollered “I knew he was nuts!”