Mandatory Parker: "Lead The Follower"

In Which A Lint-Covered Breast Implant Shows Us Who’s In Charge

The last few months haven’t been terrible or traumatic for Parker the Lint-Covered Breast Implant. The word to best describe his situation is “harrowing.” His life over the last two years was a study in simplicity: get up at 3 in the morning, scream to be let out, dodge pillows, wait until dawn, scream some more, get an early tromp at first light, chase squirrels and crows, get indignant at the squirrels and crows mocking him, go inside to eat, and demand to be let out some more. On many days, weather permitting, this repeated in the evening, with only nightfall interrupting his perfect life. Then it was a choice between his coming in of his own free will or having to be carried, with much yowling and grumbling and occasional hissing, where he would promptly sit at the back door and grumble further about going back out.

In this manner, Parker was a simple creature, like a tardigrade or commercial real estate developer, only interested in the now. “We can go outside…in the morning? It’s too late to be outside? It’s raining/hailing/storming, and we can only see a body-length past the window? What madness is this? You obviously misunderstand my needs.” Since Parker isn’t a simple creature, he expressed himself not just with his indigenous tongue but with the only English he cared to learn: “Now!” “No!” “More!”

Thus was the state for two years, ending at the beginning of spring. He then had a whole new dominion to rule, with all new rules. His greeting stool, which sat near the front door so he could inspect visitors and plot his escape, moved to a spot in front of a pair of French doors, from which he could watch over a back yard and driveway. He had an additional couch next to a window that looked out over a wooden deck, where depending upon his moods, he could watch the outdoors or watch television: he prefers The Walking Dead (I think he has a crush on Sasha), and knows I’m mocking him when I dredge up reruns of Red Dwarf, but that doesn’t stop him from watching. this is in addition to a big glass front porch door that opens for his inspection in the morning, a cat-high front window, and seeming acres of carpet. He has his own rug on which to flop while I’m working in my new office, and Sarah the Stepmonster even gives him a bench to take over while she’s working in hers. Most times, he’s perfectly happy lying on the carpet as if dead, occasionally looking up over the promise of fresh cat food or, glory of glories, the French doors opening to let him out.

The only thing interfering with perfect feline bliss? As mentioned many times before, Parker’s situation started because he feels that his world and his universe are one and the same, so there’s nothing wrong with going as far as he can to explore both. Also mentioned before, when he first popped up, someone in his past had removed all of his claws, both front and back, leaving him at a severe disadvantage against predators, other cats, and anybody who blocked off possible escape routes. At the old house, the only thing that kept him from chasing the sunrise was a high fence around the back yard, and he made much conversation about how unfair it was that the side gate was closed and locked to prevent his perambulations. Here, he has no fence except for a chain-link fence separating the yard from the back alley, and no fence whatsoever keeping him from the front yard, the street beyond, and untold adventures. Hence, it was time to pull out his nemesis: the harness.

When you’re a ten-kilo lint-covered breast implant, harnesses are just the indignation to end all indignations. Parker doesn’t mind cat carriers or traveling in a car or much of anything other than having to share his territory with other cats, but the harness is his ultimate challenge. Actually, it wouldn’t be a challenge at all, were it not attached to a 26-foot (7.9m) retractible lead at all times. He dislikes the harness, but he loathes the lead. The lead constrains his universe, so his first few weeks in the new yard were dedicated to finding ways to flip off the harness and continue his journeys. Just as he picked a new direction, he’d come to a dead halt as the lead ran out.

Oh, how he tried to escape! Picture a self-propelled bowling ball rolling around the yard, desperately trying to get the straps behind his elbows to slip and give him his freedom! Imagine the under-his-breath grumblings turned to full-throat yowls as bouncing and rolling only occasionally succeeded, only to be grabbed and rehumiliated as the retaining straps were adjusted for his bulk. With the slightest effort to pull him back from the brink, he went down like a sack of concrete, refusing to give in the slightest. (For the record, Parker makes an exceptional ship’s anchor.) With the arrival of a bird, squirrel, or particularly tasty blade of grass out of reach, he switches from immovable object to irresistible force, threatening to pull my arm out of its socket in his mad dash toward autonomy. Oh, the yowls!

As mentioned earlier, Parker is not a simple creature, so the first few weeks were spent cat-proofing the back yard. He learned that the back porch patio had a cat—sized gap under it, full of skinks and other critters, and the only way to keep him from impersonating the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald under the deck was to screen off the whole length with garden dividers. Then he learned how to pry those away from the deck, so they had to be locked into place with cable clips and nails. Then he learned that he could slip between things on the porch, reach the end of the lead, and push them over to great noisy effect. Best of all, he learned that reaching the end of his lead gave him additional leverage in flipping off the harness, and that could be simulated by getting his lead caught underneath car tires, between patio boards, under plant pots, and around any number of items. From beyond, Chuck Jones must be howling with laughter in watching Parker wrap around multiple items and refusing to back up, requiring me to untangle him, where he uses the sudden slack to rush toward a new forbidden place.

Finally, after about a month, detente. Parker knows that the great outdoors is outside his reach unless he submits to the harness, so he jumps up on his greeting stool and submits, purring the entire time in anticipation. A loop over his head and two snaps on the side, the hook from the lead attached to a D—ring on the harness, and I’d damn well better have my coffee in hand as he rushes out. Once outside, it’s a variety of old games to see if I’ll let him off the lead and new games to check his limits and my patience, ending either where I need to go in or he decides to return of his own free will. If the latter, he gets treats after I remove the harness, and all is right with the universe…until he wants to return to the outdoors. If the former, he still gets treats, but after letting him hiss in my ear about his plans for brutal and swift revenge, He’s my cat: what do you expect?

Want to get caught up on the St. Remedius story so far? Check out the main archive. Want more hints as to the history of St. Remedius Medical College? Check out Backstories and Fragments. Want to forget all of that and look at cat pictures from a beast who dreams of his own OnlyFans for his birthday? Check out Mandatory Parker. Questions, concerns, and disgust over generative AI? Check out Contact, Privacy Policy, and AI Policy. And feel free to visit the St. Remedius Medical College Redbubble shop for all of your Mandatory Parker needs.

harness Mandatory Parker