100 Cats Who Changed Civilization (6 page)

Few cat breeds have histories as colorful—or as steeped in violence—as the Birman. This elegant, distinctive-looking longhaired cat owes its existence to two redoubtable felines, one of them legendary, the other quite real.

The first, called Sinh, was supposedly one of a hundred snow-white, yellow-eyed cats inhabiting the Temple of Lao-Tsun in Burma. There the golden, blue-eyed, female goddess, who oversaw the transmutation of souls from one plane of existence to the next, was worshipped by the Khmer people of Southeast Asia. Sinh was a particular favorite of the shrine’s chief monk, Mun-Ha.

One night raiders attacked the temple, mortally wounding Mun-Ha. As the monk lay dying, Sinh planted his feet on his master’s chest and faced the golden statue of the goddess. Suddenly his white body turned to gold and his yellow eyes to sapphire blue. His legs turned brown like the earth, but his feet, where they touched the priest’s body, became snow white as a symbol of purity. Not long afterward, all the other temple cats were similarly transformed.

Sinh, who had also taken up the soul of Mun-Ha, remained standing in front of the statue of
Lao-Tsun, his eyes locked on hers. He died after seven days, delivering the spirit of his master to heaven. Afterward, it was said that whenever a Birman temple cat expired, the soul of a dead priest accompanied it to paradise.

Ironically, a tragedy not unlike the one that inspired the story of Sinh was instrumental in bringing this exotic breed to the West. In the early years of the twentieth century, the ancient temple was once more attacked by raiders. This time, however, two outsiders, Englishmen Major Gordon Russell and his friend Auguste Pavie were on hand to assist the monks in repelling the assault. Years later, in 1919, the monks sent Pavie, who had relocated to Europe, a reward—a male and female Birman. The male died during the long sea voyage to his new home, but the female arrived safely, and she was pregnant. It is generally believed that this single feline and her kittens formed the root stock of the Western branch of the Birman family.

SIAM

AMERICA’S FIRST SIAMESE CAT

For centuries the world-famous Siamese cat could be found only in Siam (now Thailand). There they allegedly guarded Buddhist shrines and attended members of the royal family. It didn’t hurt that they were also arrestingly beautiful. Then, as now, the typical Siamese sported a light-colored body with black feet, tail, and face, accented by glittering blue eyes.

These cats were destined to become one of the world’s most popular breeds. But in the late 1800s, the creatures were largely unknown outside their home country. Their very first overseas ambassador went abroad in 1878, when David B. Sickels, a diplomat at the U.S. consulate in Bangkok, elected to send one to Lucy Hayes, wife of then-president Rutherford B. Hayes.

Considering everything the poor cat went through to reach America, one can understand why Siamese cats weren’t exported much. The beleaguered feline traveled for two months, first going overland from Bangkok to Hong Kong, then by sea to San Francisco, then traversing the entire North American continent to Washington, D.C. She finally arrived at the White House, tucked inside a Wells Fargo crate, in early 1879.

The Hayes family was delighted, and named the
exotic-looking female Siam. She enjoyed the run of the executive mansion and made a habit of walking in on political functions, where her looks always caused a stir.

Sadly, her stateside tour didn’t last long. In the fall of 1879, she fell ill. The White House staff plied her with every delicacy imaginable, and the president’s personal physician, Dr. J. H. Baxter, was called in. He took Siam home with him so he could provide round-the-clock care, but to no avail. In October she finally expired.

The presidential family, the White House staff, and cat fanciers in general were greatly saddened, because Siam had made quite an impression during her brief stateside sojourn. Interestingly, the cat’s remains may still reside somewhere in the bowels of the government. After Siam’s death, the president’s steward, Billy Crump, supposedly delivered her body to the Secretary of Agriculture, with instructions that it should be preserved. Whether this happened—and where the remains might be—is now an open question. Careful searches of the Department of Agriculture and of the Smithsonian Institution’s vast holdings turned up neither hide nor hair of Siam.

TIGER

THE CAT WHO WAS KIDNAPPED
FROM THE WHITE HOUSE

Few felines have caused as much high-level consternation as Tiger, one of the cats owned by the thirtieth president of the United States, Calvin Coolidge. Coolidge, who served from 1923 to 1929, was arguably the most pet-friendly person ever to sit in the Oval Office. During his two terms he turned the White House into a veritable zoo. He and his wife, Grace, brought in a gaggle of domesticated birds ranging from canaries to a goose named Enoch, a donkey called Ebenezer, a semiwild bobcat named Smokey, and a vast collection of canines that included everything from collies to a Shetland sheepdog to a bulldog. Foreign dignitaries, apprised of the Coolidges’ tastes, gave the couple lion cubs, a bear, even a pygmy hippopotamus.

This immense cast of characters also included two cats, Tiger and Blacky. Of the two, Tiger seemed to grab the most headlines. The president made a habit of walking around with the tabby tomcat draped around his neck. During state functions, it was almost expected that at some point the cat would saunter in, observe the proceedings, and then wander back out.

Tiger’s penchant for wandering eventually got him into trouble. Back in Coolidge’s day no one
thought of confining cats indoors—not even one belonging to the president of the United States. If the spirit moved him, Tiger was free to walk right through the iron fence surrounding 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue and explore Washington, D.C. The spirit, it appears, moved him quite often. Once, when he failed to return, the worried president took the desperate step of mentioning his absence during a radio address, asking anyone who saw Tiger to please send him home. The plea worked. Not too long afterward, the wayward kitty was spotted near the Lincoln Memorial, about a mile away, and taken back to the White House.

After that, Tiger was equipped with a green collar and Blacky with a red one. Both carried the words “The White House” engraved on a metal plate. Unfortunately, Tiger soon disappeared again, this time for good. In hindsight, Grace Coolidge wondered if perhaps the collars had been a mistake. They were intended as identification. In reality, they turned poor Tiger into the mother of all souvenirs.

OSCAR

THE CAT WHO SANK THE
BISMARCK
—ALONG WITH SEVERAL
OTHER VESSELS

In May 1941, at the height of World War II, the mighty German battleship
Bismarck
was given orders to sail into the North Atlantic and attack the vast naval convoys hauling vital supplies from Canada and the United States to Great Britain. The
Bismarck
, considered one of the most powerful warships afloat, was uniquely qualified for the task. The British Royal Navy, desperate to preserve its lifeline to the New World, confronted the mighty ship as soon as it put to sea. After a bloody three-day fight, the vessel was pounded into scrap metal and sunk. Only a handful of its crew of thousands survived.

The lucky ones included the ship’s cat, Oscar, who was picked up by the destroyer HMS
Cossack
. The crew renamed the black feline with the white chest Unsinkable Sam and made him their mascot. But there was nothing lucky about Sam. Within five months the
Cossack
was torpedoed by a German submarine and sent to the bottom of the sea. Again, the survivors included the cat, who took up residence on the aircraft carrier HMS
Ark Royal
. But only three weeks later, the
Ark Royal
was also torpedoed and sunk. Perhaps it was a
sort of vengeance: One of the aircraft carrier’s torpedo bombers had been responsible for damage to the
Bismarck
’s rudder, allowing Oscar’s original home to be caught and destroyed.

Eerily, the feline once more escaped Davy Jones’s locker, to be picked up by the destroyer HMS
Legion
. The authorities, perhaps afraid to let any creature so patently unlucky aboard another Royal Navy vessel, “retired” Oscar/Sam to dry land. He finished his long life at an old sailors’ home in Belfast, passing away in 1955. Happily, he took no ships with him.

JOCK

THE CAT WHO BECAME
A HISTORIC LANDMARK

Winston Churchill was one of history’s great cat lovers. Throughout his life there was almost always one—or more than one—nearby. One of the most famous included a pet simply named Cat. Once, when Cat ran away after Churchill yelled at him, he had a sign placed in the window of his home that read, “Cat, come home, all is forgiven.” The feline did indeed return and was rewarded with special treats to regain his favor.

During World War II, Churchill’s most high-profile companion at No. 10 Downing Street was Nelson, a large black tomcat who followed him everywhere, even into important meetings. Churchill said his companion contributed to the war effort by serving as “a prime ministerial hot water bottle.” But perhaps the most enduring of all of Churchill’s feline associates was—and remains—a marmalade cat given to him for his eighty-eighth birthday. Since the cat was a present from his private secretary, Sir John Colville, he was called by Colville’s nickname, Jock.