My name is Fuzzy Britches, and I have a really close buddy that goes by the name of Walt.  This guy is not my master, as us cats don’t go in for that sort of thing, but he is as close as they can come. I’ll give you a really good example of what I mean:  I come to him every time he calls me.  Please don’t tell the other cats of this weakness of mine.

 

Well… maybe I’d better modify that “every time” statement.  If I manage to push my pink little nose through a corner of the screen and escape to the scary world outside, then I never come when he calls me.  I like to scrunch down in the middle of the lawn with my giant butterscotch tail straight up, and get him to try to chase me back inside.  I’ve got him pretty well trained this way.  He will run around the house three or four times chasing me, until I give him a break and dash in the door he leaves open on these occasions.

 

Great fun!

 

Walt found out that I am something called a Maine Coon Cat.  It seems my kind of cat has a real weakness for the company of human people, and we tend to attach closely to one of them.  Maybe that explains why I have to be wherever Walt is. 

 

Like right now, I am sitting on his lap as he writes down this dictation.  Every nooooow and then, I put my paw on a key just to let him know that I’m full of mischief.

 

Us Maine Coon Cats are peculiar.  We like water, which is why I often get in the shower with Walt and get all soaked and ratty-looking.  Walt dries me off with a big towel by rubbing me all over.  I love the way he does this, and I purr like crazy. Walt refers to me as his “Rumble Cat” during this operation. The Fabled PC is very nice to me, although she tends to scare me a little when I get up on the counter to give some thawing chicken breast or whatever a sniffspection.

 

She also dipped my tail in the hot tub once.  I was just sitting on the edge near Walt, and for some reason I didn’t notice as she pushed more and more of my tail into the warm water.  When I jumped down off the edge of the hot tub to check out something at the other end of the patio, my tail hit the floor with big wet plop.  Scared the bejeebers out of me, and I ran back and forth, around in circles, and back and forth again while the hot tub crowd laughed like crazy.  At last Walt took pity on my distraught condition and climbed out to fluff my tail up again.  Boy, was I upset!

 

Here’s some more information on me:  My fur is thick, very long, uneven and shaggy. I don’t look like those wuss Angora types with the silly fluff all over them, but rather like a miniature long-haired lion.  I’ve got “feathers” on the pads of my feet for walking on snow and ice, although I haven’t found much of that down here in Florida. While we’re at it, I’ve also got these neat werewolf tufts coming out of my ears.

 

Walt says that I am the color of butterscotch. Maybe so, but I don’t like butterscotch… tastes awful. 

 

Speaking of taste, I have to tell you about my very best favorite food. Walt likes to go deer hunting.  I approve wholeheartedly, because when he comes back, he always gives my lovely tidbits of the finest flavor on Earth:  venison.  I lose all my pride at this time, begging shamelessly with my front feet up on his leg, meowing pitifully for more.  Ah, wonderful!

 

As a full-fledged member of the Snedeker family, I take my responsibilities seriously. Walt never uses an alarm clock.  I wake him up every morning between 5:00 and 5:15 AM by getting up from the extreme corner of that funny waterbed that we all sleep in and walk up the edge of it until I reach his snoring head.  Then I punch him once in the face, and breep a little wake up call.

 

When he is really sleepy, Walt just reaches over and pets me all over.  I can’t help it, but this makes me turn into Rumble Cat.  Even if he stops petting, I continue to rumble, and this invariably wakes him up.

 

While he is staggering to his feet (how does he stay up without falling with only two feet?), I do leg rubby-rubs on him.  But the really best part is yet to come.  After he is dressed and has his shoes on, we always play at least one game of “Foot”.

 

This is how you play Foot:  Run ahead of your humanfriend, and plop down on your side right in his path.  He will pretend to be angry, and put his giant foot on your stomach, threatening to beat you up and kick you.  What he really does is shake his foot on your tummy. This is the signal to meow fiercely, and grab the foot with your front paws so he can’t get away, and bring up your rear feet to thump and scratch his shoe soles fiercely.

 

After a while, you get so wrapped up in the fight that you can’t help hissing and biting his shoe. Then you drop the foot, and run away about five feet and plop down again, waiting.  With luck, you can get as many as three games of Foot out of him before he goes to work.

 

We also play “Where’s Fuzzy?”  This one baffles me.  I will run ahead into a dark room (actually it is this room we are in right now) and nip into the neatest  hiding place under the chair.  Somehow, Walt is always able to figure out where I am, even though I am sure he cannot see me in the dark.  He starts calling out, “Where’s Fuzzy? Where’s Fuzzy Britches?” while reaching his hand under the chair and waving it about.

 

Of course I immediately bat at it, and even try to bite it gently.  As soon as I do, he says, “There’s Fuzzy! I found him!”  And he goes in to give The Fabled PC a kissy goodbye. Wonderful game.

 

But I’ve spent all this time talking about me. Now let’s talk about you.  What do you think of me?

           

 

Copyright© Walt C. Snedeker

 

 

 

 

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