The Adventures of Padfoots & ToeBeans #013
What is a Maine Coon? ….Raccoon?
SOMETHING IS BEING PLANNED
🐾 And apparently no one thought to consult the King. 🐾
Following the alarming conversation at breakfast, I made an executive decision.
I would begin paying closer attention to human chatter.
Normally, I do not.
Most of it is irrelevant.
What do you want for dinner?
Where are your shoes?
Did you brush your teeth?
Please stop licking that.
None of this concerns the monarchy.
But yesterday, while conducting routine breakfast supervision from the kitchen island, Lil Human asked:
“Mommy, is Marlowe a boy or a girl?”
Boy.
Obviously.
I am a boy.
A guy.
A man.
More importantly—
I AM THE KING.
Then she asked:
“Is Finan a boy or a girl?”
Also a boy.
Not a king.
But technically, yes.
A boy.
Everything remained structurally sound.
Then Lil Human said something that required my immediate attention.
“Mommy, I want a girl cat named Sarah.”
...
I’m sorry.
What?
Not:
“I want a girl cat.”
That would have been concerning enough.
She said:
“I want a girl cat NAMED SARAH.”
SHE HAS A NAME.
This is no longer a casual request.
You do not name hypothetical cats.
Names imply planning.
Names imply intent.
Names imply that somewhere—possibly at this very moment—there could be a SARAH.
A female.
With a name.
Potentially preparing to enter MY KINGDOM.
Absolutely not.
We do not need a girl cat.
We have boys.
The boys are working.
The current system is functioning perfectly well.
And has anyone considered what happens if this Sarah arrives and decides she is a QUEEN?!
You cannot simply install a queen in an established monarchy because a three-year-old announced her over breakfast.
There are procedures.
There are committees.
There should, at minimum, be a consultation with—
THE KING.
None occurred.
This was when I realized I may have made a serious mistake by ignoring human chatter all these years.
Because apparently, while I have been tuning them out...
THEY HAVE BEEN NAMING CATS.
So I began listening.
Closely.
And almost immediately, I heard Big Human say:
“Why don’t we get another boy cat?”
...
I beg your pardon?
ANOTHER BOY CAT?!
First Sarah, who apparently already has an identity, and now Big Human is suggesting ANOTHER BOY?
How many cats are these people planning?!
Big Human.
Look at me.
I am a boy.
I am a guy.
I am THE GUY.
I am a MAN.
More importantly—
I. AM. THE. KING.
What possible vacancy exists here?
And before anyone points toward Finan—
Finan does not count.
Well.
He counts numerically.
Unfortunately.
But Finan was an experiment.
An experiment that somehow acquired permanent residency, unrestricted access to my food supply, and sleeping privileges on Big Human’s chest.
Frankly, his immigration paperwork remains questionable.
His continued presence certainly does not establish some sort of precedent requiring us to collect additional boys.
But now I had a larger problem.
Which was worse?
Sarah?
Potential Queen.
Another boy?
Potential competition.
I began conducting calculations.
There is only so much food.
There are only so many pillows.
There is only one dining room table.
How many subjects am I expected to provide for?
A kingdom requires subjects, obviously, but there comes a point at which a monarch can become oversubjected.
Then there is the matter of staff.
I already have staff.
I have Big Human.
I do not require more staff.
In fact, I require my existing staff to have fewer competing responsibilities.
Big Human has only two hands.
Both should remain reasonably available to me.
And when I say I do not wish to share Big Human’s attention, what I actually mean is that I do not wish for Big Human to be serving anyone other than me.
Finan already occupies entirely too much of her chest.
Lil Human has somehow obtained permanent priority status.
The Padfoots require meals and outings for reasons I still do not fully understand.
We are at capacity.
Something had to be done.
Therefore, I initiated:
OPERATION INCREASED AFFECTION
I sat closer.
I rubbed against Big Human’s legs.
I followed her into rooms where I had no actual business.
I appeared beside her whenever she sat down.
I permitted several extended petting sessions.
I may have even climbed voluntarily into her lap.
This was not desperation.
It was strategic diplomacy.
Big Human simply needed to be reminded that her current feline arrangement already includes an exceptionally handsome, affectionate, highly qualified king.
There is no reason to go looking for additional inventory.
The campaign appeared successful.
Big Human seemed delighted by my increased affection.
Excellent.
Crisis potentially averted.
Then I heard something else.
“Maine Coon.”
...
I stopped.
I listened again.
Maine Coon.
That cannot possibly be right.
Maine is a state.
I know this because I am educated.
A mane is a luxurious arrangement of hair worn by lions and, to a lesser extent, myself.
And a coon...
Well.
The only coon I am familiar with is a raccoon.
Therefore, using basic deductive reasoning, Big Human is apparently considering bringing home some variety of large, excessively hairy raccoon.
This is worse.
Much worse.
We have already experienced the Wildness.
I was personally stranded there.
I have no intention of allowing Big Human to begin importing pieces of the Wildness into the house.
Raccoons have hands.
Tiny criminal hands.
I have seen them.
They can open things.
They steal food.
They knock over trash cans.
Some of them have rabies.
And now, apparently, there is one from Maine with an impressive hairstyle that humans have decided belongs indoors.
Why?
Is there not enough going on here already?
Would it have access to the kitchen?
Could it open my food container?
Would it know how to operate doors?
Could it open the refrigerator?
Would it sleep in my chair?
Would Big Human attempt to PET IT?!
And perhaps most importantly—
CAN MAINE RACCOONS CLIMB?!
Because I have shelves.
I was still attempting to assess the security implications of a large, long-haired northern raccoon entering the household when Lil Human contributed one final piece of intelligence:
“Kitten.”
...
Oh.
Excellent.
A KITTEN.
Because apparently the situation was not sufficiently unstable.
Do you know what kittens do?
They run.
They jump.
They climb.
They attack things that are not attacking them.
They have no respect for nap schedules.
They have no respect for personal property.
They have no respect for governmental hierarchy.
And they possess a disturbing fascination with tails that clearly belong to someone else.
I have already completed kittenhood.
The household survived.
There is no reason to do it again.
So now I have absolutely no idea what is happening.
There is Sarah.
Who is a girl.
Or perhaps a girl kitten.
There is apparently another boy under consideration.
There is a Maine Coon.
Or possibly a mane coon.
Which, according to all available evidence, is some sort of long-haired raccoon.
Perhaps Sarah is the raccoon.
Perhaps the boy is the raccoon.
Perhaps the kitten is the raccoon.
Perhaps there are MULTIPLE RACCOONS.
Perhaps Big Human intends to acquire a male raccoon kitten and expects ME to train it.
Absolutely not.
Or worse—
Sarah could be a female raccoon kitten.
Which means she could eventually become some sort of...
RACCOON QUEEN.
This intelligence is fragmented.
The humans are being reckless with terminology.
I turned to Finan.
Surely he understood the severity of the situation.
He was eating.
I attempted to brief him.
He continued eating.
I explained the potential arrival of a raccoon.
Nothing.
I mentioned Sarah.
Nothing.
I mentioned the kitten.
He looked up briefly.
Then he went back to eating.
Again:
THIS IS WHY HE IS NOT KING.
I have therefore increased household surveillance to:
CRITICAL
Food reserves are being monitored.
Big Human is receiving significantly more affection than usual.
Lil Human’s conversations are now considered a reliable source of potentially catastrophic intelligence.
All references to girls, boys, Sarah, kittens, Maine, manes, coons, raccoons, cats, carriers, food bowls, or phrases beginning with “Wouldn’t it be cute if...” will be documented immediately.
And if something arrives at my door with luxurious hair and tiny raccoon hands—
I am leaving.
Not permanently.
Obviously.
This is my house.
I will simply wait outside until Big Human corrects the situation.
MARLOWE’S JOURNAL
Current Intelligence — Highly Concerning
Girl Cat: Previously theoretical. Situation has escalated.
SARAH: NAME OF POSSIBLE GIRL CAT. Extremely concerning.
Important: Lil Human did not say “I want a girl cat.”
She said:
“I want a girl cat named Sarah.”
Question: WHO IS SARAH?
Additional Question: WHY DOES SARAH ALREADY HAVE A NAME?
Another Boy Cat: Apparently also under consideration. Completely unnecessary.
Finan: Technically also a boy. Irrelevant.
Kitten: Loud. Fast. Probably touches things.
Maine Coon: Unclear.
Maine: State.
Mane: Hair.
Coon: Raccoon.
Raccoon: Tiny hands. Criminal tendencies. Possible rabies.
Maine Coon Kitten: Insufficient intelligence. Potentially a small hairy criminal from the Northeast.
Possible Queen: Sarah.
Possible Raccoon Queen: Also Sarah.
This is developing badly.
Working Theory: Big Human has lost her mind.
Finan’s Contribution to Investigation: None.
Operation Increased Affection: Ongoing.
Big Human’s Response to Increased Affection: Favorable.
Food Supply: Currently adequate, but vulnerable.
Threat Level: CRITICAL
SARAH
Likelihood Humans Are Planning Something: 97%.
Likelihood I Approve: 0%.
Additional Note:
Find out whether raccoons from Maine are larger than regular raccoons.
SECOND ADDITIONAL NOTE:
Determine whether “kitten” and “Maine Coon” refer to the same creature.
This possibility is particularly troubling.
THIRD ADDITIONAL NOTE:
Determine whether Sarah is the Maine Coon.
FOURTH ADDITIONAL NOTE:
Do not ask Big Human.
She may realize I have been listening.
I will continue monitoring the situation.
Quietly.
From very nearby.
Probably Big Human’s lap.
For security purposes.