I had an amazing cat named Charmander. No really, he was freaking awesome and more importantly a clever, asshole at best. My Husband thought I was talking up the cat but I insisted this wasn’t ‘just ANY cat’.
If anyone has had the pleasure of owning a Maine Coon, or mixed version, it becomes very clear that this is more like a Dog with the pro’s of a cat. The eyebrow muscles on their faces give them expression and they are very rich in terms of Personality.
We had gotten my cat from my Mother’s house, where no one had kept up with brushing out his fur. Poor guy had matted hair tying his elbows to his chest. They only thing I knew to do was shave him down. His fur was too knotted, and worse, close to his skin. We busted out the hair clippers and gave him a Buzz cut to give him that famous “Lion Cut” hairstyle. Much to our surprise he started purring and licking a paw. He WANTED to be shaved. After the deed had been done, I set him up with all he needed in our bathroom.
Two weeks had almost passed when one night my husband turns to me, sighing, “Poor Char-Char…”
“What?” I was confused to why he was still feeling so sad for my cat. “What’s wrong with Charmander?”
“Babe, he hasn’t left our bathroom since he’s been here.” He exclaimed, as if I had failed to notice this. “Poor guy won’t take no more than two steps out and rushes back in!”
“Honey, he’s playing you.” I smirked, he had failed to take heed of my warnings about how clever the cat was. “He sleeps in the sunlight every afternoon on his back in the kitchen floor…”
“No way!” He furrowed his brow. “Since when?”
“Since the next day after he got here.” Laughing I asked him, “What are you giving him? You’re doing something he wants and he knows it’s only because you think he won’t come out.”
“I, uh…” My husband’s face was red as he continued, “I’ve been bringing him a can of tuna after work every day…”
“Ah!” I pondered a moment and put all the puzzle pieces together. “He’s been sleeping next to the window in the kitchen because that’s where you park. I’ve been wondering why he hauls ass when you pull up. Tomorrow, don’t park by the kitchen window. I guarantee that he’ll be snoozing on his back still.”
Just to give you an idea of why the kitchen was a shock to my husband, it was the complete opposite corner of the trailer we were living in at the time. That meant the cat not only traveled out of our room but had to traverse the rest of the trailer to get to that one window in the kitchen.
Well, that evening the husband parked in the field, so there was no risk of Charmander hearing the truck. As he tip-toed into the kitchen, my husband witnessed the large cat, on his back, in the sunlight, dead asleep.
“Why you little!” Growled my husband.
Charmander’s eyes went wide as he stared up at a very angry man. He scrambled to his feet, Scooby-Dooing it across the laminate flooring. My husband chased him to the back bathroom where the cat poked his head out, one eyebrow raised as if he were saying, Do I still get the tuna?
“No!” Shouted my husband. “No more tuna for you!”
My husband returned to the bedroom with the open can of tuna and a spoon. Sitting on the floor in front of the bathroom, and more importantly, Charmander, he began eating it in large gulps. Char-char furrowed his brow, snorted, and walked back to the kitchen to continue his nap.