Camper Dub — I don’t know if that’s her surname, given name or nickname — had the cat on a leash. It might have been the first time I’d seen a leashed cat. I stopped to get a closer look.
The cat was pretty fair sized. I don’t know much about cats but I’d guess this one weighs in at 10 or 12 pounds. He wasn’t husky — a nebulous description used by Sears & Roebuck back in the day in their sales literature for big-boy jeans. So the cat wasn’t husky, but he was getting up there.
A good looking cat. Gray with white on his chest and belly… looked sharp in his pink harness. And polite; he didn’t bark at me like some dogs do when they meet a stranger.
Dub and the leashed cat were standing there by the lake, watching something on the water.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a cat on a leash.”
“I’ve got him pretty secure,” she said. “Theres an osprey out there eyeballing us, looking for a meal about this size.”
“That’s a good-sized cat.” Not husky, but…
“He’s a Maine Coon,” she said. “He’s only about six months old. When he’s finished growing, he’ll be about 30 pounds.”
A 30 pound cat. Isn’t that about the size of a cougar? Heavier than an East Texas bobcat after a big meal?
“Thirty pounds, eh? When you come back next year, Dub, that osprey had better be on her toes.”
Bill, we demand a photo of this fluffy — not husky — gato.
I hope the day will come, as I has for me, that you will witness a cat in a life jacket.