I don’t know if all Siamese cats are like Ting, having only had personal experience of her, but she’s just so funny. For example, I have never known any other cat that likes “Botty Smacks”… Indeed, if I even attempted such an outrage on Charlie I have absolutely no doubt I would be hearing from her solicitor in a very short space of time. Lily and Tooty would probably just bite me…
With Ting, however, she adores the physical contact, delivered to the side of her legs, hand slightly cupped, so the air makes the loud smacking noise. When she’s had enough, she will collapse on her side, purring wildly…She quite enjoys being chased too, so I am often to be seen running after her, arms outstretched in the manner of an over-enthusiastic toddler.
Ting has such zest and joy in Life, a summer soul, like myself, and she adores the freedom of our garden, never wandering very far from home at all. On her travels, though, she does seem to pick up a few select companions… your friendly local gastropod… or slug by any other name.
Now. We have a large (and grouchy) hedgehog that lives at the bottom of our garden, various sorts of bird visitors and a fishpond with newts, frogs and toads, as well as our fish. Consequently, we don’t use slug pellets or any other chemicals in our garden to protect and preserve our little wildlife family and their food sources. Consequently…I’m not quite sure how or why… Ting attracts slugs.
She doesn’t eat them – they seem to serve a multitude of purposes for her – accidental cushion (I found the remnants of one glued to her backside) fetching headgear (one was clinging grimly to the centre of her forehead) avant-garde makeup (smooshed decoratively across one cheek and up the side of her face) or as slimy jockeys, attached to various parts of her body for later discovery and removal, usually by me.
A couple of truly gross instances – leaping out of bed in the middle of the night to indulge in my late night hobby of catching mice and treading on a large slug which had disembarked from Ting and plopped onto my bedside rug.
The other? Ting, lying beside me in bed, with her back feet propped up against me….me, engaged in watching a television programme and absently massaging one of her back paws.
“Ooh Ting! What’s the matter with your toe?!”
Gasping in horror as one of her toe pads felt like it had become detached, I lifted my hand towards my face and peered short-sightedly at it to find that I had been gently rubbing a small… brown… slug.