I have discovered the problem with living with a Maine Coon. Although there are two of them, I’m really only talking about Johnson Freckelmeyer McNasty III, here, as he is the gigantic one. I don’t think Amy is going to be very Coon-ish in size, but John certainly is.
Yesterday, we had a lovely chat with an encyclopedia salesman and at one point, Owen comes out with John and dumps him in the guy’s lap. We’ll call him Dennis. Because that was his name. Well, Dennis looks at John and declares, “That is one huge cat!”
I reply with, “He’s five months old.”
He just looked at me in disbelief until Dean explained to him that John is a Maine Coon and they get humongous. This was the exact same expression he had on his face when he looked down at my coffee table and saw a book by Immanuel Kant.
“ooooH…. Kant!” he says.
“Yeah, my daughter pulled it down and was flipping through it.”
“How old is your daughter?” he enquires.
At this he blanched and I looked at him like he was crazy to assume that Olivia was actually READING the fucking book. Then, I explained to him that she likes to pretend to read my books and will sit there forever turning the pages and telling herself a story.
Matthew, however, will read anything. I’m not exaggerating when I say this. He will pick up Moby Dick and sit there and read it. Currently, he is reading a pamphlet he picked up at the doctor’s about teenage pregnancy. It’s sort of an information booklet with about twenty pages, but the boy has a bookmark wedged in it so that he won’t lose his place. He reminds me of myself at his age because when I was in the second grade, I was digging through my older brothers books and reading them even though they were high school books. Either that or you could find me under the basement stairs curled up with one of my mom’s medical books that she kept in boxes down there. I love that Matt loves to read but it has lead to problems.
At his school library, he is only allowed to take out books for certain age levels. He attempted to take out a book in the sixth grade section and was told he wasn’t allowed to and I thought that was stupid and flipped out. Let the kid read the fucking book, I say. If he can and wants to, why would I stop him???
But this post was supposed to be about my cat so I will get back on subject.
So, the issue I have found with owning a gigantic cat is that although I have purchased the biggest litterbox on the market, John is still too large for it. He will climb in the thing and take his dump, but the problem is that his ass hangs over the edge and he ends up pooping on the floor. Since he is a total dumbass, he has no idea that he has shit outside of the box and will sit there and happily dig in the litter to “cover up his poo”. Then, he’ll hop out, notice the poo on the floor and give it a look as if to say, “Ew. Who’s the retard that shit on the floor?”
Poor thing doesn’t have a clue that HE’S the retard who is shitting on the floor. It’s very sad. But also hilarious.
John is insane which makes Dean adore him like no other. Each and every night when I go to bed, I have to remove all of my bedding and remake it because I’m neurotic and terrified that there will be a speck of something, a crumb maybe from one of the kids, and I can’t sleep if there is something there. So, John has learned this ritual and the minute that I head for bed, he is right there jumping into the thing to play in the sheets and blankets I’m trying to put on the bed. He loves it and gets super bushed up and acts nuts leaping around in the sheets. If it wasn’t so funny, then I’d be annoyed.
But I think I’m going to have to figure out something different with the litterbox. After all, I have a big ass but still manage to get my shot off on the intended target. John will have to be assisted.