I know that this is serious political season. The primary process is still raging. Hillary is playing nice - no, she's not. Harold Ickes is sounding irrational; now he's being reasonable and voting with everyone else on Florida. Oh, no. Now he's being Icky again and making outrageous threats because of Michigan. Hillary supporters, or anti-Obama nuts, are demonstrating. This is Sunday, so it must be . . . Puerto Rico! Hillary takes Puerto Rico. Which means . . . nothing probably, but more fuel for the Clinton rhetoric.
However, for me, it is impossible to focus totally on the politics. The cats refuse to allow it.
Help! I’m being held hostage by three large, furry demanding critters!
It all began innocently enough. I wanted a "pet" so I adopted what I thought was a normal little stray kitten from a vet clinic. I should have known that something was not what it was purported to be when I arrived to chauffeur him to his new apartment. Every self-respecting country barn cat I knew avoided contact with people he did not know and limited his interaction to a little begging for milk or attention from his family. THIS fur ball was strutting from client to client in the vet’s waiting room, walking all over them (ignoring the protestations of their pets), and demanding that his ears be scratched and that it be done NEOW!
I was living in Beverly Hills at the time, and when I brought the kitten (who soon indicated to me that he would accept – and occasionally even answer to – the name Cisco) into the apartment, he gave it a thorough inspection, then announced his approval by lounging in the middle of the sofa and launching the loudest purr I had ever heard.
Cisco soon grew to about 17 pounds – one of the biggest cats I had ever seen at that time. He had these odd furry feet and the longest, most gorgeous tail I had ever seen on a cat. He inserted himself into every aspect of my life, demanding equal rights to everything – including my bed, my friends and my food. He is still the only cat I have ever known who agreed with me that any food is improved by a little garlic and salsa (which might explain why he never had fleas)!
Cisco was my best friend. He stayed with me through a disastrous marriage and divorce. My now-ex did not understand cats and banished Cisco to the outside. Cisco survived and became the meanest, nastiest street fighter in the neighborhood – even though he was neutered. Cisco and I arranged for him to sneak in the bedroom window at night after the ex went to sleep. Cisco apparently had faith that I would come to my senses and leave the idiot eventually and was willing to wait on me.
After 4 years, we made our escape. Cisco normally didn’t like riding in cars, but the day we left the ex, Cisco rode all the way across the L.A. basin in the front seat beside me, in rush hour traffic, purring all the way. That cat KNEW that we were finally escaping.
When I began dating, I would sometimes ask my human friends for their reaction to some guy I was seeing. Their response was usually, "What does Cisco think? He’s always had better taste than you do in men." When we found a man we both found acceptable, I married him. Cisco sort of insisted on that. He had started tackling me around the knees and yowling if my now-husband was missing from the house for more than 24 hours.
Cisco was about 10 years old before we discovered that he was a Maine Coon cat. Someone else in our neighborhood had one and asked about ours. I had not realized that Cisco’s furry feet, beautiful tail, amazing talent for opening cabinets and latches (his nickname at the boarding place was "Houdini"), habit of standing on his rear legs for a better view, and large size were all traits of his breed. When I read about the breed, he was a textbook example. Unfortunately, he developed the two most common genetic flaws of the breed: bad hips and bad heart. He died at 12 of heart failure.
By this time, I was hooked. I had never spent money for a cat before, but how could I be without a Maine Coon after Cisco? So, hubby and I went to a cat show and discovered the world of beautiful Maine Coon cats. We found a breeder who ended up having one left from a show litter which she was willing to sell us. So, Tully came to rule the house.
Cisco had ruled the house as long as he lived. When we opened the carrier door and let Tully out as a 3-month-old kitten, he immediately went to all of Cisco’s spots to sniff them – apparently smelling the other male cat – then settled down purring in a Cisco spot. It really freaked us and our poor little female mutt of a cat!
Tully is now 13 years old and a full 20 pounds. He still rules over his 2 humans and 2 younger Maine Coons. If we have visitors – parties of 40-50, family gatherings with shrieking children – it doesn’t matter. This is still his house and they can just get out of his way.
Maine Coons are supposed to have an incongruous "chirp" of a meow. Tully missed that part of the Maine Coon manual. He vocalizes loudly and often with a wide variety of sounds. In fact, he fancies himself something of a singer. He stands in the corner of the kitchen counter with granite splash guard surrounding him for echo and practices various loud songs for his own enjoyment! For variety, he sometimes uses the bathroom as a practice room. If he thinks that he is being ignored for too long by his humans, he uses his vocal prowess to be sure that the situation is remedied. He sits by me and loudly tells me how mistreated he is until I get up and follow him. He then runs to which ever room he wants me in and waits. Cats may not be trainable, but they do act as trainers!
Of course, he doesn’t always order me around. Sometimes he’s content just to lay on me, or completely cover everything on my desk and allow himself to be rubbed while I try to see the computer screen over the top of him.
When our female "mutt" cat died at 12, we got another Maine Coon to keep Tully company. Mainerd J. Coon has to be subservient to Tully, of course, (only 1 boss male per family) but he runs the humans. Despite the fact that he is as big as Tully now, he’s just a lovable baby at heart, demanding a lap so that he can curl up and sleep there. He has us trained to feed him pretty well on schedule. If we are late, up he comes with a huge paw on my waist (yes, he’s that tall), a slight tug with the claw, to pull me toward the kitchen. I consider myself lucky that at least I miss the morning wake up from Mainerd – a lick on the tip of my husband’s nose when Mainerd decides that he has let the humans sleep long enough – or that it is time we let him have the entire bed.
I guess I can see his point that he wants to have a little more room. Now that we’ve added a third Maine Coon, even a king-sized bed gets crowded with 2 big humans and 50 pounds of cat.
The newest addition, Miss Olivia, is the only petite Maine Coon in the family – but she makes up for lack of size with energy. When she arrived home at just over 2 pounds in size, she saw no reason to take any guff off those 20-pound males. After all, SHE is the female cat and females rule. I would have been terrified of all the hissing they gave her. She just looked at them and continued her merry way. Unfortunately, she treats any attempts by humans to direct her activity in the same way – our free spirit Olivia just does whatever Olivia wants!
I’m running out of room to sit around here! THEY take over the best spots on the couch and won’t move. I only get to read when they decide they are tired of laying on my book or paper – or, in Olivia’s case, eating it! Luckily, they do approve of me using the computer. It provides them with an excellent time to sit in my lap or lay on the desk in front of me. Olivia helps type, but, other than that – and the fact I can’t see my documents in front of me – I’m allowed a little peace at the computer. (Good thing since I work at home.) They follow hubby and me from room to room – all three of them. At night, they are all in the living room with us until we start turning out lights for bed. Then, they beat us to the bedroom and are all lounging on the best spots in the bedroom before we can get there.
Darn it! I think they have outsmarted me. I’m the one working – or trying to work around them - to pay the mortgage and buy the cat food while they enjoy the place all day. I am at their beck and meow. I have given up and bought a tee shirt which says "Obey the Maine Coon." It’s reality; I might as well wear the uniform.