Cymric (pronouced kim-rick, it's a Welsh name) is the long-haired
version of the Manx Cat. The long-haired kittenes
often occured to Manx Cat mothers, but were not respected. In 1960s they
were brought to Canada, where the local breeders liked them so much, that
developed a separate breed. Some cat societies do not use the breed's
Welsh name, and call it just the Longhair Manx.
The Cymric has long and thick coat and dense
undercoat which suit it well in the cold climate of Wales. It has a broad
head with full round cheeks, a short nose and small ears. Like the Manx,
the Cymric is a skilled hunter and an excellent climber. Nevetheless it
is a good indoor cat, it is confident, playful, docile, friendly,
alert, observant and relaxed.
All colors are accepted in this breed, although
some authorities reject the colorpoint pattern.
Its main qualifing feature is absolute taillessness. The Cymric is
also known for its intelligence. I once even met a Cymric philosopher --
a rare thing with cats.
<Ceasar after his bath.
My encounter with a Cymric
I was walking along
an alley with a feral friend called Felix. He had told me he wanted me
to meet someone he called "a real wise guy". We came out to a dumpster
and I spotted an old half-blind cat. He was bedraggled and his hair matted,
a few lonely plumes qualified him as longhair. As for his tail... there
was none. Not even a stump.
"What would a good cat like you be doing
in a dumpster?" I asked
"I ran away. You see I was owned by
people with little kids, you know the kind of thing." My face showed that
I didn't. He quickly explained: "They kept grabbing me and hitting me and,
luckily I don't have a tail to pull, but had I had one it would have been
in constant danger of being ripped off. I'm a philosopher you know, we
can't stand that sort of thing. So I ran away."
"A philosopher?"
"Yes. To be or not to be." He told me
displaying a half destroyed set of teeth.
"To be." I answered quickly.
"Why do you say so?" He squinted at
me shortsightedly.
"It's better." I said.
"Good and bad are relative terms."
"Yes, to be is good from my point of
view." I explained.
"But from the universe's point of view..."
He asked.
I made an inquisitive
expression.
"Never mind." He sat back, deep in thought.
"Want a fish?" Asked Felix from the
top of the dumpster, derailing the train of thought. "It's barely got any
maggots, can't scoff at a fish like that."
"Yes, please." Answered the Cymric philosopher.
"By the way my name's Ceasar. Ancestral name."
"And look a box of ice cream, it's half
full too and the cockroaches haven't been getting at it..."Came Felix's
mutterings. Ceasar proceeded to gnaw at the sickly fish. "Oooh! An apple,
want it Kisco?
^Felix
A thing that looked and
smelled like something you found in a sewer plopped happily in front of
me. Felix's apologetic face peered down. "Sorry didn't mean to make it
such a close miss."
"You know," Ceasar spoke after a while,
"If you could find me an owner it'd be great."
"Well, you're a great cat, but you're
not exactly in best form, are you?"
"Yes, that's very true." He surveyed
his thin, matted and flea-ridden body.
"If maybe... Ceasar, quite frankly,
if you want to have even the tiniest chance of getting an owner you need
a..." my hair bristled at the thought, "... bath."
A sort of wave passed through Ceasar's
body: it started as shiver in his shoulders and went on till the tip of
his tale. "I wouldn't bother."
"Ceasar, you really should!" I told
him.
"Fine." He consented.
"There's a water tap in that backyard."
Felix contributed.
"Okay, I'll bring the shampoo." I left.
And we did find him an
owner.
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