Speaking of cats, they're on to Siamese now on "Cats 101." I used to have a "Traditional," "Applehead" Siamese (named Bijou). (My mother had had one of the more elongated, modern varieties.) I'd adopted her through my vet. She came with the name "Contessa," but I renamed her in honor of a cat I'd adopted who died in recovery following a routine operation.
One remarkable thing about Bijou is that she learned (on her own) to pee down the drain in the bathtub. Then I moved, and apparently she became disoriented in my new place and peed at the opposite end of the tub from the drain, soiling herself. Poor thing.
But I as I recall, she adjusted and ended up enjoying life in the new apartment. I lived on the first floor at the dead end of Emerald Drive in North Miami (this was before Hurricane Andrew). I let her roam outside when I was home and she loved the lush, shaded yard, which abutted Arch Creek.
Eventually she ended up dying in the bathroom soon after it appeared she'd suffered from a stroke. I hadn't wanted to disturb her in her last hours. She was out of it and snuggled against a wall. She was pretty old at the time and had had a good life, and she got to die at home, in her surroundings. I buried her in the side yard in a big Burdine's bag and worried about her getting wet when the next rain came.*
*She was the last cat of mine to have outdoor privileges. After having been burglarized there, I never again lived on the first floor (Andrew had threatened to flood the place and then toppled the shade tree, and the yard was never the same after that). My new cat family and I now live -- free of fleas, I should add -- on the fifth floor overlooking the pool deck in a high-security building. The cats have terrace privileges now. [Modern lilac-point Siamese pictured at right.]