Maine Coon?

Before Saturday I'd never heard of such a cat breed as Maine Coon. My husband's cousin, an electrician, stopped by to look at some broken light switches and stepped back in awe as Argus, our Big Friendly (Feline) Giant sauntered into the room. "You got a Maine Coon?" He asked.

What? That's just Argus, the bigger half our kitty brothers duo Argus 'n' Odo. Odo's got short hair and a mean lean frame, but identical Jellicle cat tabby markings as Argus. Maine Coon? We were abuzz with excitement. We searched through Wikipedia and Cats 101 in quest for the Truth about Argus. Big? Yes. Above average intelligence? We think so. Friendly? Yup. He's also interested in people but not clingy, sometimes chatty. The tufts of fur in his ears extends beyond the outer edge of his external ears. He has tufts between the toes of his snowshoe big feet. Tail as big as a feather duster, belly fur hanging low. Maine Coon! We got ourselves a Maine Coon. Don't we? Doubt sets in. Suddenly it matters. We need to know.

So what is it about we humans that drives us to establish lines of authority, lineages, pedigrees for everything? Does believing or not believing Argus is a Maine Coon make any difference at all? Chris says he likes to know because it gives him a narrative. The intrigue of the Maine Coon's story ranges from the theory that they descend from Norwegian forest cats--Chris envisions Argus padding softly across a blanket of snow in a forest of pines--to having sprung from the fortunate felines once belonging to Marie Antoinette. She was able to save them before losing her head. And yeah, the narratives add some flavor. Argus, a sea-faring cat, snoozing away atop bags of grain, helping himself to the hungry sailing rodents daring enough to nibble a bag open. This affinity for the salty sea may explain his fascination with our toilet water.

What was funny to note, though, was my own hesitation in granting Mr. Argus--affectionately called Poop Gus by those closest to him--the title. Maybe he's not REALLY a Maine Coon, I interjected. Don't get all excited, y'all. I found some authoritative breeders who would insist he cannot be Maine Coon. No pedigree. Would we be laughing stock if we were so bold as to presume? No way to know the Truth here. Maine Coon? I dunno.

I correlate both my skepticism and my family's eagerness to claim this presumably elite status for our cat to common human behavior. There are those who feel safer, I guess, if their ideas are validated by a sense of coming from authority or having been transmitted via pure lineages. There are those who are attracted to the narratives, and perhaps others who feel special or elite (Sneetches on the beaches?). Then there are the skeptics, like me, unwilling to say for certain this is this or that is that. The joke may be on  folks like me, but I don't mind. Having my doubts leaves me open to possibilities. As for Argus, I'm fairly convinced that as long as we'll rub his belly from time to time and make sure he gets a little canned cat food in his dish every morning he doesn't give a flying fart whether we call him Maine Coon, Poop Gus, or anything at all.