Sept. 23, 1996
My Siamese cat has officially gone over
the edge. I have no doubts about his mental state. He is deranged and driving me crazy. After
peacefully existing for nearly 10 years, Ming has crossed the line from cuddly to clingy, from
namby-pamby to neurotic.
I have never minded Ming's little quirks before, but he definitely shows signs of acute schizophrenia, manic-depression, and obsessive/compulsive behavior. Siamese are supposed to talk with raucous whiny voices, it's true, but he no longer talks for a visible purpose. He just howls. He stands on tiptoes, crunched on a corner of a bed table or sitting on the small roof outside the bathroom window and he screams pathetically. This is not a particularly pleasant ploy at 6 AM. He doesn't want in or out, he just wants attention.
Now I'm fully aware that cats demand attention. Ming is no exception. He has always been quick to cuddle up on a lap or stroke his body and kinky tail across your face as you try to read a newspaper, but Ming has never been a clinger. He would take his hug and beat it. Now it is suddenly different.
If you pick Ming up and hold him, even if only for a second, and then attempt to put him down, it is like dealing with Velcro. His legs stiffen, he wraps his paws around your neck or grabs your clothing with his claws, and he clings onto you as if you were trying to drop him from the Empire State Building. When you succeed in extricating yourself from two paws or claws and go for numbers three and four, he maniacally reattaches one and two. You might as well try to put him in boiling oil as to put him on the kitchen floor.
If only he confined his paranoia to the daytime hours, it might be bearable, but he has become more than a nuisance at night. Ming has always slept at the foot of our beds or curled up next to one of us, but recently he has begun taking his Velcro act to bed. No matter how violently I toss or turn, Ming manages to stay attached to my back or front and remain clutched to my body as I sleep. If I am finally able to force him off my torso, he streaks to my head, brakes frantically, and plops down atop my face. No amount of pushing or shoving moves him. I resort to yanking him from his perch and tossing him overboard, but he literally bounces back to my face.
I hear you laughing. You think I'm being hyperbolic, but trust me. Every word has been true. This cat has gone off his rocker. We took him to the vet's and the diagnosis was inconclusive. If we wanted to spend $200 we could run some blood tests.
We've decided to live with the neurotic beast. He's such a tiny thing.
He's too small to choke or smother me, so even if he does wake me up at 3 in the morning by
sitting next to my bedside clock and screaming suddenly, what harm is that? After all, he's family.
