Click on the Cat.
Steve Heathkit HeathBar has requested a recent photo of Elmer Elevator the Maine Coon Cat. Elmer was S.W.M.B.O.'s and my wedding gift to one another, which makes Elmer nearly 9 years old. Steve has visited and made Elmer's acquaintance, and apparently found EE memorable.
He is pretty memorable. First of all, he's huge -- the Maine Coon wins or ties as the largest domestic cat breed, and it's pretty obvious he has much more bobcat in his genetic material than any other kind of domestic cat. He has on several occasions been mistaken for a bobcat by passersby. He attacks full-grown large male dogs passing by, and hunts full-grown rabbits (successfully). He used to lie in wait for the mailman, and rush out and attack the fellow's legs and feet, but clearly just as a daily sporting game.
Elmer is getting on in years and has pretty crappy health, so this is not Elmer at his visual spiffiest.
But we've got him all cranked up on all kinds of pillz, and he's got a pretty fine quality of life, especially with his Bestest Pal & Hunting Companion, Benedict Spinoza Cat.
If Elmer is looking particularly bedraggled here, it's his coat -- gorgeous for 5 minutes after a thorough grooming, but after that, it's the Coat From Filth Hell, it quickly takes on all the qualities of the inside of a vacuum cleaner bag. He prowls around and wallows in Filth, and quickly becomes Filth. And stays Filth until we get him some Professional Help, which sometimes makes him look like a silver poodle after the clippings.
He likes me to put him in my office swivel chair and spin him around as fast as I can. He's never jumped off because he doesn't want to spin anymore. My swivel chair is Elmer's idea of the Superman Roller Coaster at Six Flags Over New England. (The other 3 cats have utterly no interest in spinning in the swivel chair.)
He doesn't "meow," he makes trilling noises: bbbbbbRRRRIP!
His paws are the size of baseball catchers' mitts. Once he checked himself out of a long stay at the veterinarian, in the examining room he made it clear to the staff that he would murder the next person who poked or probed or prodded him, and the vet decided that was nature's way of saying he should go home.