We have a real celebrity among our fur-footed members! «Tex» Roland of Hanover, Pennsylvania will be (or probably has been) «Miss Pennsylvania» in the All-American Glamour Kitty contest to be held in Miami sorry I don’t have the date. Tex will appear as Betsy Ross in the fashion show and will have to demonstrate her skill at pole climbing, maze running and hurdle jumping.
Tex’s history is as fascinating as her current glamour cat activities. When she was only about 4 or 5 weeks old she «found» the Rolands in a campsite in San Antonio, Texas. For two years she was just a family member and then was identified by a member of the Penn-Mar Cat Fanciers as a Maine Coon Cat. She is a lovely Torti Particolor – her pictures in the Hanover Evening Sun article that Miriam sent leave no doubt as to her ancestry. The article was well done but did contain a couple of statements that are new to me. Did you know that Maine Coons bark like dogs and that the Pilgrims trained them as hunters to rid Plymouth Rock of rodents!
By next time, we hope to have Tex’s first hand account of her Miami adventure. Incidentally traveling is not new to this lady; she has already visited 20 states via the Roland’s trailer.
Another of our members has gained fame in Cata Magazine’s July issue. Mrs. Norman Servies (Sue) and her CATS CRADLE boarding kennel for cats in Pacific Grove, California are the subjects of the article «A Castle for Cats». Sue is owned by Billy Budd, a Maine Coon tabby. The CATS CRADLE sounds great; wish we had more such places to park our fur-friends when we can’t take them along.
Now that the ’75-76 show season is well underway, I’d like to share with you an account of member Mary Heston’s first cat show as a spectator. Mary says she seldom voluntarily leaves Vermont (I don’t blame her) but she broke all the rules and went to Boston to a cat show. Here breeders, judges and all other «professional» cat-nut types, is how we look to the world. I’ve eleted names just in case some of us might be lacking in the gift of being able to laugh at ourselves.
«It was a four ring circus. One of the lady’s specialty was tickling cats with a long feather; she was the only one who did practically nothing but tickle while making a deci sion. Another lady delivered a little lecture on her subject while she judged; I found that most informative and healthy. The third lady I ignored because she worked with long, stringy, enakelike cats that I find repulsive (Siamese for instance). But …….. ah, What a showman! There he stood, a plump genial figure swaddled tightly in a white uniform, looking like a young Charles Laughton. And every gesture held high drama. He swept pussycats from their cages. When he had finished with a pussycat, he sprayed the table with the air of a great French chef seasoning the soup. He did Siamese, and he did it as an artist stands back to survey an easel. He picked the pussycat up suspended, with a finger of one hand in front of its hind legs and a finger of the other hand behind its front legs. And he extended his arma full length and there the pussycat was: three feet out in front of the judge, with a couple of feet of its back and belly hanging in space. He flipped those cats back and forth, in and out of cages, with rhythmical grace and fluid motions. All he needed was a little music – a good old fashioned waltz, perhaps. A great showman. Worth the trip just to watch him operate.
My day at the cat show leads me to believe that what the Maine Coon really needs is a watch and ward society to protect his interests at cat shows. For hear this! Sitting in a short section of «oddities» (in the next cage was the only Ragdoll) was a large cage containing a huge cat. He was black and white and looked as though he had dropsy he was so big. Also in the cage was a dish piled high with round ground (round ground, my dear – obviously not hamburger) and another dish of dry food and a dish of water. He sat quiescent, just an enormous blob of cat with nothing else to distinguish him. On my second go-round, I noticed something had been added to the cage.- a sign reading «Maine Coon Cat» and beside the cage fussing around, was a slightly built girl in her late 20’s, with a worried, heckled look on her face. I asked her if it was a Maine Coon. Yes, it was, she’d just put the sign up because so many people wanted to know what it was. Where did she get him? At the animal shelter. How did she know he was a Maine Coon? Because they told her so. How old was he? Born in February. (Fight months, by God!) How much did he weigh? 35 lbs., the last time she weighed him. Well, says I, he’s quite a cat. At which she blossomed and informed me she wouldn’t have thought of bringing him except that «her friend» thought she should and she wouldn’t do it again because «he didn’t like it. I didn’t offhand see how anybody could tell what that particular cat did or did not like, since he just sat there and looked out in a stupefied fashion, but I figured at least I’d finally seen a 35 lb. cat and went my way.
Later on I saw what she meant, because I stuck with him for the judging. What he didn’t like was movement. The frail, harassed looking woman was unable to get him from home base to the judge’s cage, and «her friend», obviously a trainer or shower or expert of some sort, managed to tote him up and stuff him in. He then became quiescent again. Until the judge got ready to work with him and then all hell broke loose. He swelled up to twice his size, the cage rocked and teetered, and he told the whole world what he thought. And all around me people said, «What is that?». And the informed whispered, «That’s a Maine Coon Cat!». And the final word, depending upon the stratum of Boston society, would be, «My God!» or «Mercy!». Finally, the owner’s «friend» put on gloves and extracted him from that cage. People fell back on either side as they made an awe-inspiring trek, a-hissin’ and a-spittin’, back to his ground round. And I figured I’d not only seen a 35 lb. cat, I had a fair idea of what a 70 lb. cat looked like!
All kidding aside, though that sort of thing isn’t quite right. The «friend» of the owner was obviously plugged into the show why on earth would she let that young woman put a sign on the cage saying «Maine Coon Cat»? You’d think common decency would prevent it in the course of a legitimate showing. And while the owner was obviously a sincere, well meaning person, the cat was obviously just a freak domestic short hair who needed an intes tinal bypass.
Of course, he wasn’t listed in the program as Maine Coon, but every layman at the show pegged him Maine Coon and passed the word (people don’t read, you know) and it certainly doesn’t help the breed any.
So it was quite a cat show. And I rather fancy that sometime this October I’ll leave the woods long enough to sit on a stump in Boston again. I was surprised and pleased, incidentally, to see the really large number of young people involved with their cats – intensely involved, from the looks on their faces at judgement time and their conversations. I suppose it’s because it’s a reasonably inexpensive, viable hobby for apartment living.
I close the story of my cat year by saying that my Maine Coon (if such she be) is my idea of a mighty fine cat, in appearance and personality. Any time I can lay my hands on an other one to keep her company, I’ll do it. I take it as an accolade when my veterinarian greets me with, «Well, and how’s that fancy barn cat of yours today?». (for our annual checkup and booster shots, I haaten to add not illness). Because, for me, the best cat of all is the one that combines beauty with a touch of the «barn» to preserve its cattiness. It’s got to look like a cat.»
Amen, Mary. That’s why I’m hooked on Maine Coons – they are all CAT!
Connie