Many years ago I had Ming, my first seal point Siamese, and his buddy, Daffy, the parakeet. Daffy was so named because he had a couple of odd habits. 1 was to push his head through the bars of his cage and get stuck. (you had to spread the bars an hope to push him back inside the cage but he often kept coming until he was out) 2 was to build nests in dad’s hair.
Ming and Daffy played without incident for a couple of years. Their favorite was “dive bomber”. Daffy would dive bomb and Ming would catch him with velvet paws then let him climb on his back for a ride around the room. After a circuit the bird would fly back to the curtains and chirp for the next round. Ming would chirp back and settle into his ready posture and the game would begin again.
One day Daffy refused to return to his cage and after awhile we forgot that he was roosting in the drapes over the living-room window. We all settled in to TV and Ming curled in front of the panel-ray heater for a long winters nap. It was then that Daffy made his mistake. He dive bombed the sleeping cat. Ming made the instinctive grab and bite, dropped his mortally wounded friend and began to wail in misery.
It was a sad time for all of us. But I think Ming mourned the longest.
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