No, the title's not referring to me...
Today my sinuses are reminding me they're still operational. The 75 degree weather is probably partially to blame. But what I did yesterday is also, methinks.
My papa Bill manages the food booths at the Montgomery County Fairgrounds in addition to his myriad other volunteer activities there and elsewhere. His favorite part of the year is when he answers the phones at the fair office when the fair is happening. The questions he hears are ridiculous.
Anyway, the Laytonsville Lions Club, of which he is a part, had volunteered to staff the food booth for, wait for it, the Capital Cat Fanciers. This is ironic, because Papa Bill despises cats, unless they are working in the barn. Otherwise, he thinks they are annoying as hell and makes that abundantly clear when he is at my house. "Get away, damn cat" is probably said five times in an hour of his presence here. (Although I think he has a begrudging non-dislike for Disney.)
What is also amazing is that my husband allowed me to go to a cat show. He made sure I was carrying a small purse so I could not smuggle any new friends home. Luke strongly believes in a one cat per person rule for our family. Introducing a new one means someone has to go. And yes, we would all three of us say Beckham. But he will probably outlive Disney (they're six years apart), because that's how annoying Beckham is.
Also amazing, Luke didn't have a sneezing fit or watery eyes. He doesn't take his Zyrtec regularly. I do, but I still think part of my congestion is all the kitties. We're both allergic, but I didn't encounter any Russian Blues, which really affect me.
We enjoyed the Maine Coon cat that was the size of a small collie. Same
coloring too. There was a four-month-old kitten that I definitely wanted
to take home. He was a little nervous as it was his first show. The
judges at the show also impressed us as they explained the criteria for assessing the cats. It was hard to follow along sometimes or see why certain cats weren't winners. We spent a couple of hours running from ring to ring to see the long-hairs and the kittens as they went through the multiple rounds.
At dinner last night at Mom & Bill's favorite restaurant, Italian Pines, we were discussing the potential for any of our cats to qualify for a show. More than just the qualifying - but the serenity of these cats. They get introduced to the circuit at four months old, if they're better than pet quality. A woman with two fluffy six-month old Himalayans said their brother was "petted out." "You can just tell immediately if they're pets." They weren't scared, one was very playful (not a perfect Himalayan) and just sprawled out. She said she has to wash them THREE times/week. They were absolutely gorgeous.
But my mom said Disney could be a show cat. So as I was brushing my teeth this morning, while Disney is halfway in the sink drinking water (it's Luke sink, not mine), I allowed myself to dream of taking my cat to a cat show. How I'd sit there brushing Disney. How he's too fat. How his tail has a crick at the end, probably from birth.
He may not be show quality, but he's high quality when it comes to love & low maintenance when it comes to grooming. He's sleeping on his back next to me, dreaming of chasing mice or birds with his front paws twitching and his back paws quivering.