Alright, so let me tell you about Maine Coons. Specifically, how big these cats get. I mean, you hear “big cat,” and you think, okay, a bit chunky, maybe. But no. You have no idea until you’ve seen one up close, trust me.
It all started when my friend, Sarah, decided she was getting a Maine Coon kitten. She was all excited, going on about how majestic they are. I’d seen pictures, sure. Fluffy. Looked nice. I figured, cool, another cat for me to pet when I go over. I already had my own little tabby, Max, who’s, you know, regular cat-sized. So, I thought I knew cats.
The first time I met “Leo,” he was about four months old. And yeah, he was a big kitten. Definitely bigger than Max was at that age. His paws were already huge, like he had oversized furry boots on. Sarah was cooing, “Isn’t he going to be a giant?” I just sort of nodded, like, “Sure, Sarah, a big fluffy boy.” I was still underestimating. Massively.
And Then He Just… Kept Growing
Fast forward about eight months. I hadn’t seen Leo in a while because life gets busy, you know? I ring Sarah’s doorbell. She opens up, and then this… this shadow detaches itself from the hallway. I’m not kidding. For a second, I thought she’d gotten a small lynx. It was Leo. But it wasn’t the Leo I remembered.
This cat was a beast. A magnificent, fluffy, incredibly large beast. He sauntered into the living room, stretched, and his front paws were on one end of the coffee table and his back paws were practically at the other. My jaw just dropped. He wasn’t just “big for a cat.” He was genuinely large. Like, if he stood on his hind legs, he could probably look a toddler in the eye.
And the tail! It was like a glorious plume, thick and long, and when he swished it, you paid attention. He’d knock stuff over without even meaning to, just by existing in a space. Sarah just laughed and said, “Yeah, we had to Leo-proof the shelves.” No kidding.
I remember thinking about Max, my little guy. Leo probably ate more in one meal than Max did all day. And the sheer presence of him! When he jumped onto the sofa, it wasn’t a delicate cat-leap. It was a proper thud. You knew he’d arrived.
Let me tell you, you know a cat is big when:
- You genuinely consider if they need their own armchair.
- The “large” cat carrier looks like a tiny prison cell for them.
- You find yourself saying “excuse me” when you need to pass them in the hallway.
- Their purr doesn’t just vibrate, it practically shakes the room.
We were having snacks later, and Leo just casually hopped onto a dining chair, put his front paws on the table, and looked at my sandwich like it was a personal invitation. He was at eye level with the food! Sarah shooed him down, but honestly, I was too impressed to be mad. The audacity, powered by sheer size!
So yeah, when people talk about Maine Coons being big, they aren’t exaggerating. They are genuinely, impressively, sometimes hilariously, huge. It’s like they’re not just cats; they’re a whole different category of feline. Still love ’em, but wow, make sure you have enough space if you’re thinking of getting one. And a sturdy sofa.
