King Arthur and the Night of the Round Table

by Phelicity

When I was a very young showcat, I had a real busy "season". My mom was taking me to shows about every other weekend, all over Texas. We were in Waco just a week after some very bad things had happened there, so it wasn't a very well attended show. That's where we met King Arthur.

His name was just Arthur, but with other names before and after it, like showcats have. (My own had a total of 5.) A huge, all red Maine Coon, with a ruff like a lion and a tired, elegant air, Arthur was an "old" stud cat that his breeders had neutered and retired. So they were selling him. He was 11 years old, the same age I am now. Can you imagine anyone having such a wonderful cat for 11 years and not loving him too much to sell him? I can't.

They had a special large cage for him, because he was too big for the regular size, and it was on a round table that had a thick white pile cover and a purple pillow, as befitting such a kingly cat. I remember the pillow, cause I wanted one, too. The table was at the end of a row, so I got carried past Arthur whenever I was called to a judging ring. King Arthur would be lying on his pillow outside the cage, for he was so well behaved that they let him do as he pleased. Maybe they thought they better.

In between the judging, while I took naps, my mom was at that round table, admiring Arthur. Oh yes, I noticed. Many others stopped to admire him, too; he was quite an attraction. But they went away. Nobody paid for him.

Shows are two days long. On Sunday, just before the Finals, the breeders put up a different sign that said they would give him away. Can you imagine just giving away a cat after 11 years? That's when my mom nearly came unglued. I could see how bad she wanted Arthur. But we got real busy with Finals, cause I made some of them. I won a ribbon, too! But not my Championship, not yet. I'd barely begun, competition was stiff that year and mostly boys. They have an edge. I didn't win mine until May.

It was still February then, when the days are short and night comes early. When the show was over, I'd had my snack, and Mom was packing us up, she went back to the round table and Arthur was gone. Only the table and his pillow were there; she couldn't find the breeders. We went out into the night and Mom put all my stuff in the car (showcats have a lot of luggage!) but not me. Me she carried back into the showhall. She just said, "Baby, we've got to go back." Well, I'd had enough showhall for the day. I wanted my dinner and the motel room window, where I could see the sights. But in we went.

That time the round table was folded with its legs under it. The purple pillow was on the floor. We waited for the breeders to come get it, but they didn't. There were only a few left in there, so I got dragged all over while Mom asked around. Finally someone told her yes, Arthur was given away, to a strange man with long hair and an earring. A type, excuse me, you don't usually see at cat shows. "But he didn't take his pillow" was all Mom could say. We went back to the car and sat there while my mom cried. I could have told her, Mom, we are 5 cats right now, in a little bitty house. Where would we put a King? If it would have made a difference.

I know, a story should have a happy ending, and mine doesn't. True ones don't always. So it should at least have a moral. And it does. When there is a cat, whether he's a King or not, and you want to take him home and love him the rest of his life, don't hesitate. Don't get busy. Hurry.