A Burmese Cat Called Sultan– aka Satan, aka Sultille O’Neal

My totally spoilt Burmese, Sultan

Sultan was the first and only cat that was really mine. We had cats when I was a kid but they were generally closer to my mother than anyone else in the family.

He was a dark brown Burmese I got from a breeder, Christine Atkins, who was a close friend. She convinced me Burmese were not like other cat breeds – they more doglike. How right she was!

The first thing I was thankful for with this breeder was all her kittens and cats were trained to use a litter box. 


Apart from me having to cope with messes during the training period, it meant he would live inside and not have to go out to the ‘toilet.’ Which incidentally was another condition of her contract. Any cat she sold had to be an indoor pet and not allowed to roam. This is something I genuinely appreciated. – see my blog, Please Keep Your Cat Inside https://pamelakingrandomjottings.blogspot.com/2018/10/please-keep-your-cat-inside-updated-blog.html .

He was independent and cheeky but very affectionate. I don’t know what was in my make-up but he loved to lick it off my face.
 

Of course, he got into mischief. He chewed my indoor plants, the nose of my life-size wombat soft toy and the hand of my grandmother’s old doll.
 
He was a handsome cat and Christine thought he may do well in a cat show. (She was one of the leading breeders and her house was adorned with ribbons and trophies.) Agreeing she could take him along he did well and showed promise. Excited about his results she asked to take him to another show.

About mid-morning of the second show, I received a phone call from Christine. ‘Come and get your cat! He’s disgraced himself and is under the table in a cage!’ I quickly jumped in the car to collect my beloved boy and find out what all the fuss was about.

When judging time came Sultan attacked not one but all three judges. A friend of Christine’s, tongue in cheek, assured me all was well there were no lights and sirens when the ambulance left. Sultan wasn’t invited to another show.
He would jump up on the kitchen bench and eat the strangest things. One of his favourites was spring onions.

One day I was given two freshly caught trout. It’s a fish I am not fond of so I popped them under the grill to cook for Sultan. When they were finished, I left them there, closed the grill door and forgot all about them. Next morning, I found two fish skeletons on the kitchen floor completely cleaned of all meat. Sultan had jumped onto the stove, flicked open the grill door and helped himself to supper.

The greatest fun my son, Clinton, and I had was using a ping pong ball to play piggy in the middle – Sultan being the piggy in the middle of course.  We would toss the ball high between us and Sultan would leap higher than our head height to catch it with his paws. He would also retrieve tossed toys tirelessly bringing them back to be thrown again.

But, Clinton’s playtime with Sultan around wasn’t always fun. He loved his Matchbox cars and playmat with roads and buildings on it. He would take ages to set up stories of accidents, road works, fires etc. Sultan sat quietly on the side watching. Just as Clinton finished the layout, Sultan would dive under the map scattering cars, detour signs and trees across the lounge room floor.

A friend lived in the same villa complex as us. She had a large grey three footed cat called Noah. Like me, she did not let her cat out to terrorise birds so her mother made harnesses for Noah and Sultan so we could take them for a walk much to the amusement of passers-by.
I’m primarily a dog person but if I get another cat there is no doubt it will be a Burmese.

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