Candace the grandest

Candace the grandest

All cats are great.

All cats are good.

Comparison is the thief of joy.

But sometimes, dangit, there truly can only be one.

One winner.

One conquering queen.

One cat whose surface area exceeds that of Norway.

One and only one: the Largest Cat At Tabby’s Place.

Yes, yes; this is a dubious distinction at best. Unless a cat has the body frame of a saber-toothed tiger, she should probably not aspire to outweigh every other inhabitant of Tabby’s Place (including the staff). But cats will be cats, and some cats will be sea lions, and we might as well admire their epic enormity even as we prescription-feed them out of prediabetes.

So back to the adipositivity, shall we?

At least for today, Candace is The One. She is somewhere north of eighteen pounds. She out-Louies Louie, exceeds Elijah, and runs rings around rotund Rose. (By “runs rings,” I mean “rolls in slow motion.”)

Candace’s frame is not particularly large, which makes it especially eye-popping that she is, in fact, particularly large. She is a large cat in a small-to-medium cat’s body. She is a Fiat stuffed with twelve passengers. She is a clutch purse containing a sofa. She is a burrito filled with a 55-gallon drum of beans and a wheel of cheese and also the entire population of New Jersey.

She is glorious.

She is also fully aware of her glory. If you do not share this awareness, she will set about getting you properly Candied by the time you leave the building. If you are human, this is tasty enough; she will rub you and regale you with struts and sashays and assorted candy-coated charms, and you will rightly love her forever.

Rough night, Candace?

If you are feline, you may be subject to larger exhibits of grandeur. Which is to say, you may will be popped on the head early and often.

And you will learn — sooner than later, if you have a large, sound mind — that the tremendous cat is not to be trifled with. (She is to be given all-bacon trifles, but that’s another story.)

At this point, Candace has kept company with Reese, Farrah and Shifty long enough that there’s no need to throw her weight around. The know she is The One, and they proclaim their allegiance any time she waddles towards them with that menacing look in her eyes. The menace has mellowed, too, thanks to a calming pheromone collar, combined with the general goodness of settling into her place in the world. (By “her place,” I mean “the world and everything in it.”)

It’s good to be The One, but some good things must come to an end. Candace is a bit too much of a colossus for her own good, which would seem to make her a good fit for the Weight Management Suite. On the other hand, she’s so happy and non-murderous in the Lounge, it would be a shame to flip her world upside-down.

So there’s only one thing to be done.
The One is going on a diabolical diet right where she is.

I don’t use the word “diabolical” lightly. What we’ve done is nothing short of treason. We, the wily and foolish humans of Tabby’s Place, have equipped Candace’s Lounge with a microchip feeder. Now we wait in fear and trembling for Candace to call down lightning as we sleep.

But wait. Say wha? A microchip huh?

Candace wrote a review of this device for Amazon, but it’s not printable in polite company.

Say yeah: a microchip feeder. This slick device is a techy cat dish that opens and closes only for the “correct” eater(s). If you’re walking around with a microchip that the feeder has been told to recognize, it will open to you, its delicious contents yours for the gobbling.

But if, say, you’re the one and only cat in the lounge whose microchip is not programmed into the feeder…no kibble for you.

Picture the scene, kittens. Shifty approaches; the feeder pops open. Farrah finds her way over; it’s lunchtime, no problem. Reese tiptoes in for a taste; open sesame.

Candace clambers across the room for a snack or thirty; the microchip feeder is as silent as a potato.

It’s an injustice.
It’s an outrage.
It’s reason enough for Candace to show us the true power of One.

But put down your flaming torches, concerned readers.

Candace still gets wet food no fewer than twice a day. Candace still gets more treats than have been authorized by the proper authorities. Candace still consumes enough calories to power the decathlon.

Candace is still — for now, at least — The One.

So feast on friendship with this fiesta of a feline. Wherever her size goes or grows, we are fully and forever in her thrall.

1 thought on “Candace the grandest

  1. This is a really cute story. Candace sounds lovely. However, you do know that housepanthers are smarter than your average feline, don’t you? Candace is probably even now figuring out how to get Farrah and Reese to tip out the kibbles, so the great one can snack!

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