May 2019 issue small revised

My Name is Clancy!
by Ross Coulter
Let me introduce myself. My name is Clancy. I am
a feline of the first order, that being “I am a cat”. I
am a Tom by sex, meaning a male of the species, but
“Tom” may be a misnomer as someone did a snip
job on me. I haven’t and never will sire kittens. I
have never subscribed to a DNA test as far as trying
to determine my genetic heritage, but there are those,
professional vets included, who have taken a stab at
guessing. Results inconclusive. You see, I am a big
ball of mostly black fur with white on my chin extending
down my chest and tummy. I also have
white paws. Some people refer to that as a “tuxedo
look” and thus have referred to me as a “tuxedo cat”,
but there is no such official breed in any feline listings
that I am aware of. I guess one would have to
refer to me as a mixed breed. But which ones?
As far as I know, I was born in Canada of suspect
parentage it seems, but it has been speculated that I
have a mix of Maine Coon, a bit of American there,
and Northland Forest, a Norwegian breed that gives
me some international flavour. I can rightly subscribe
to both as I fit the mold for both. I am semi
long-haired, big boned and have an average adult
weight of up to 25 pounds. I am currently weighing
in at around 29 pounds, but I attribute the bit extra to
my advancing age. It also doesn’t help that I am an
indoor cat and don’t have much room to run around
and exercise when not sleeping or eating, of which I
do a lot.
I’m not as sensitive about divulging my age as
some feline femmes might be, so I don’t mind revealing
that I am, by best guess, 13 human years old
going on 14. I remember very little about my formative
years, just that somehow I wound up in a cage at
the local humane society when I was two years old. I
have no idea how I got there or what went before.
All I know is that I was kept warm and well fed with
a bit of cuddling thrown in. That sure made me purr!
I remember the day I was adopted because of the
fuss the couple I now call my master and mistress
made over me. They couldn’t stop hugging and petting
me. I still get a lot of that. My mistress brushes
me every day and my master gives me great body
and leg massages. The only complication in my life
is my current roommate, the little “brat” they adopted
the same day as me. He was only four months old
and I guess they thought he was so cute they couldn’t
leave him behind to who-knows-what fate. He
was kind of pushy and really endeared himself.
We’ve been roommates for the last 12 years and he
hasn’t changed a bit, always demanding attention,
and getting it! They named him Casey.
I am so different. I am quiet and
gentle despite my size and I have a
very soft voice. I think my only
negative, besides missing the litter
box on rare occasion, is that I
seem to have a built-in food clock. But
for the little “brat”, I’d probably sleep longer in
the morning, but he likes to be fed really early and
his supposedly cutsie antics rouse both me and my
master. Who am I to refuse food when it’s laid out?
I’m not a clock watcher, I couldn’t tell a clock from
a food dish, but my tummy tells me daily when it’s
12:00 noon and I go searching for the hand that feeds
wherever in the house it may be found. That’s when
I let out my soft plaintive cry. It gets the desired effect
and I get lunch. I use the same tactic come five
o’clock and I get dinner. My master is a real pushover
and sometimes I wonder who the real master is.
I say no more on that issue. Instinct tells me that cats
have always reigned.
The only real problem I have with my current existence
is my weight. I really am heavier than I
should be and I now waddle when I walk and have to
take it slow going up and down stairs. My humans
seldom pick me up now, certainly not nearly as often
as the “brat”, and I have great difficulty jumping up
on their laps when they’re sitting on the sofa or an
easy chair, besides which the “brat” already has their
attention. What a big suck he is! They never call me
fat for fear they might hurt my feelings, but they often
call me “Huphalump”. What’s a “Huphalump”?
I have no idea, but I certainly wish they would just
call me Clancy!
To be continued with Casey the “Brat’s” rebuttal!
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T S - M 2019