Maine Coon Cat Quotes

With their broad chests and muscular bodies, maine coons are the defensive tackles of the cat world.

Every now and then, as he sucked up the daily load of cat hair, he thought wistfully of a Roomba, but Buster would try to kill it and carry it off to his lair. The big Maine Coon probably outweighed a Roomba.

There were fat cats and skinny cats. The long-tailed and the bobbed. The daring young leapers, and the old windowsill sleepers. Balls of waddling fluff, smooth-coated prowlers, and hairless ones that looked fragile and wise. The tiger-striped, the ring-tailed, and the ones with matching coloured socks and mittens. There were tabbies and calicos. Manx and Persians. Siamese and Bombay. Ragdolls and Birmans. Maine Coons and Russian Blues. There were Snowshoes and Somalis, Tonkinese and Turkish, and many, many more. Brown and beige and orange and grey and black and white and silver cats, each with gleaming eyes of emerald, or sapphire, or amber. A rainbow of precious stones.

she watched Big Red swat lazily at a butterfly in the afternoon sunshine in their small garden. A Maine coon, she’d found outside her college when he was a tiny kitten, and having no idea how big a cat of his breed grew, she’d brought him home. No one claimed him and Maddie was glad about that every day. A big eater and even larger than the average Maine coon, Maddie adored him. In turn, he offered indifference tempered with affection, depending on his mood. He also ruled the house, something she willingly allowed and to her amusement, so did Gran. After eleven years, he was her confidante and side-kick, traipsing around town, with or without her, as far as she would let him and further if he thought he could get away with it.

An overweight Maine coon cat dozed in an open bedroom window, his bulk pressed against the screen so that the gentle breeze of the summer night could ruffle his long yellow fur. With a start, he went on alert. A moment later, he leapt from the windowsill to the top of the dresser and from there to the foot of the bed. He landed squarely on Liss MacCrimmon Ruskin's bare legs.

He stretched out his long legs under the table, settled on his tailbone. He shook his foot, rotated his ankle, as if he'd sat too long. The movement caught the cat's attention. Archie's back arched, his tail swung, ready to pounce. A long lunge, and Cade stiffened. "Dude, I'm not a scratching post." "Archibald Reginald Rose," Amelia called him by his full name. She clapped her hands. "No!" Grace tipped on her chair, caught the action under the table. This was no sweet kneading from the Maine coon. He bared his claws on Cade's thigh, close to the man's groin. Cade inched back, avoided kicking the cat. His jeans were white-seamed and laddered. Archie swatted, then latched on to the loose, swaying threads. He tugged. Denim split, shredded, leaving a sizable hole. No underwear for this man. A shift of his weight, and Cade flashed Grace. Not purposely, yet she got an eyeful. In that moment, she learned more about him than she ever needed to know. He tucked left. His sex, substantial.

He didn't move or discourage Archibald from kneading and clawing his right boot when the enormous Maine coon strolled in from the pantry. The animal was like black smoke with gold eyes. A furry mystic with large, tufted paws and ears. Legend and lore surrounded the cat. Some stories were amusing, some mere fantastic flights of fantasy, and others actually plausible.

Muriel and Zachary's Maine coon cat was named 'Epilogue' for the fact that he concludes the lives of so many mice.

Her pink sweatshirt said I Love Maine Coon Cats.