My interest in Siamese cats was piqued by a genetics article about genes that are selected for some specific and focused purpose which often have deleterious side effects in unrelated traits.

The article illustrated the thesis using the experience of Siamese cat breeders.  The breeding of Siamese cats for show purposes during the past 40 years had emphasized a long head.  The same gene (or genes) that produced this desired trait produced other unintended traits.  The new breed of cats were more prone to illness and skittishness.  This showed how one gene affects more than one trait.  These new features, the intended head shape plus the unintended deleterious effects, had been created during only a few decades, and more decades would be needed to select a long head gene without the deleterious effects.  The traditional breed, coming from Siam some 40 years ago, was free of deleterious effects.  This meant that the Siamese created the breed over many cat generations during which they paid attention to the many facets of what they desired in the cat.

We got our first Siamese kitten from a pet shop, and it had the rounded head shape I wanted.  We later learned that the head shape was rounded because it was part calico.  A book my younger daughter brought home from the library advised that two Siamese is much better than one because they need lots of attention and humans generally don't have enough time to satisfy this need.  So I contacted a breeder, and bought a second kitten, this time a pure bred Siamese of the traditional style, with the original "Siamese" head shape and, presumably, original Siamese behaviors.

We hesitated to name the kittens because we wanted to avoid the confusing change of names that had occurred for our previous cat, Fluffy.  It actually confused us more than the cat, for Fluffy never seemed to learn either of her names.

At first I referred to the the Siamese kittens as "Number 1" and "Number 2."  Needless to say, these names didn't elicit any recognition on the part of the cats.  Number 1 was the more affectionate of the two, and Number 2 was more graceful, regal and majestic.  Both had a dark brown coloration on their ears, nose, tail and feet, and elsewhere were creamy white.

They seemed to have an inborn wisdom of how to act around people.  When one of them was nearby and I wanted her to cuddle, she would come and drape herself over my neck and sleep.  When I wanted them to be still and go to sleep, they seemed to know this.  We never had to house train them, for they "understood" immediately what a litter box was for.  They "understood" when we were calling them to "come here."  Perhaps they read our actions, maybe even our voice intonations.  I prefer to believe that they read my mind!

As "understanding" as they were, however, they seemed to be slow in learning to stay off the table, or to not scratch the furniture.  I'd say "NO," authoritatively; but they didn't understand.  They probably didn't want to understand.  I could accept these small transgressions, not only because they were merely kittens, but because they were so intelligent and perceptive about other things.

When my other daughter came to visit during the holidays we resolved to settle on names.  They wanted to name Number 1 "Athena," but I objected.  It had three syllables, and it seemed too long for a cat.  They kept trying to convince me, so I consented  -  but on the condition that I could name the second one.  They agreed.  I rather whimsically gave Number 2 the tentative name "My," because she was to have my name, and because she tended to spend time with me; but also because I wanted to defer thinking about what to call her.

A few days passed, and I hadn't thought of a new name.  I was getting used to calling her "My," so I settled on that unusual name  -  half-suspecting that something unexpected might result from that decision.

"My" was now 9 weeks old, and I was noticing new behaviors.  For example, she would lick Athena, who was 7 weeks old.  When it was bedtime, they would both come to my bedroom, and climb aboard, as I had wished.  When I was feeling tired, "My" would come to my lap and purr, and this made me feel better.  When I was fixing dinner they'd stay out of the kitchen, as if knowing that I was too busy to play with them.  I teasingly told people I had fallen in love with two females, then explained that they were kittens!

One peculiar thing kept occurring with "My," though, which I could not explain.  For all her intelligence, and my belief in it was reinforced by experience on a daily basis, she would act inexplicably when I called her name.  I would want "My" to come sit in my lap while I read the newspaper, as she often did, but when I'd say "Nice My" she'd jump off my lap!  Or when I lay on the couch to watch the news, I would call "My," but she would walk away instead of jumping atop my chest as she used to do.  What had happened to my love affair with "My"?

Cindy took many pictures of Athena and "My."  She used her telephoto lens, because she doesn't have a normal or wide angle one, so all the pictures were "close-up."  We took some pictures with us to show Tom, who owns the Thai restaurant we go to every Friday night.  When Tom came over to get our order we showed him the pictures of kittens from his homeland.  He wasn't too impressed, and explained that in Thailand it is not customary to keep cats in the house.

Tom was polite, though, and asked what we named them.  I said my daughters named the first one "Athena" and I named the second one "My."

"What did you name the second one?" he asked.

"My," I repeated.

"Oh no," he exclaimed, with a rolling of the eyes upward.  "In Thai, M A I, which sounds like MY, means NO!
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This site opened:  October 30, 1998.   Last Update: October 30, 1998