When we took Tack to the vet for his international health certificate the vet suggested that Tack is maybe a little bit overweight. This
observation has been confirmed by pretty much every other passerby who, before
commenting on his cuteness, remarks “wow, that’s a big cat you have there” or “is
that a Maine Coon (pronounced Mancoon)?” I am shocked at how many people have asked if Tack is a Maine Coon. Have you seen a Maine Coon??? They’re gigantic! Think of Garfield on steroids with abominable snowman like locks. I included a picture for your edification. Jeff
responds to these comments by putting his hands over Tack’s ears, “he eats his
pain away.” Then, when the passersby are again out of earshot he strokes Tack
and reassures him, “don’t listen to what they say, you’re not fat…you’re just
well loved.”
Now THIS is a big cat. It makes me wonder if these people have ever seen a Maine Coon before…
We have delineated cat duties on our boat – Jeff is responsible for feeding Tack and I am responsible for scooping out his poop box
and brushing him. Tack shows greater affection towards Jeff, the provider of
food. He was exceptionally affectionate when we had freshly grilled fish to
offer him in recent weeks. Jeff, ever worried that Tack’s mental state is
deteriorating, likes to compensate with food (dry food during the day, wet food
at night, bits of fish when available…sometimes lunch meat…other little morsels
that are cat appropriate). But it is quickly becoming apparent that we need to
put our little guy on a diet.
One of Tack’s newest hobbies is what I like to call “seat
snatching.” If you get up to refill your cup of coffee, grab a book, toss
something in the trash, other little mundane tasks around the boat, sure enough
Tack will be on your seat before you can return striking some impossibly cute
pose. He was eyeing my seat for the last hour, just waiting patiently for me to get up. This used to be endearing, we would get out our cameras and remark on his
cuteness and let him occupy our seat, maybe find a spot next to him and rub his
belly. As time has passed he seizes more and more space with legs and paws
completely outstretched in every direction, his belly spilling over onto the settee so that it is uninhabitable to
any other being. The bigger he gets, the more space he occupies.
The seat snatcher reveling in his work.
He knows what he’s doing. When I turn around to find that he’s
taken my seat (again) I look at him sideways with a come
on, really? look and just say his name. He picks up his head to look at me,
then plops it back down on the settee, daring me to move such an incredibly cute
lump. Now I just hover over him, like I’m about to sit down…butt slowly
lowering until it just touches his fur and then he springs forward, clearing
the way for my descent.
This is what happens when you leave your seat unoccupied and unattended for ten seconds.
In some ways I think this is retaliation since I have taken
to cluttering the corner of my settee where he used to sit. Now that we’re at
rest for awhile, maybe I’ll work on that so we can strike a happy balance and restore all of the surface area with sitting potential.