Max

Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, where have you been?
"I've been to London to look at the queen."
Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, what did you there?
"I frightened a little mouse under the chair."
~ Mother Goose

Max came to us last year. He was a big bit of orange fluff and his hunger carried him through his fear of us. When he thought we and the other cats weren't looking, he'd sneak into the pool house and have lunch. So many times I'd approach the building, not knowing he was in there, and he'd streak out of there like the proverbial bat out of hell, scaring the bejeezus out of me in the process.

I didn't like him at first. It was merely the fact that he was orange, and I didn't like orange cats. I have no explanation for this whatsoever. I just didn't like them. My parents had an orange cat when I was born. His name was Tom. And there was a man in our town named Tom that had an orange cat named Fred. My dad's name is Fred. Both Tom and Fred (the cats) lived good long lives and I don't recall any bad experiences with either of them.

But Max had a heart of gold. And as he became more trusting of us and most of the other cats accepted him into the family, we soon fell in love with him. Even me. The first time Max let me touch him, his loud purr and affectionate ways just did me in. How could I NOT love him? Max, whose favorite place in the world is in your lap. Max, who drools in ecstasy with every caress of your hand. Max, with eyes that match his immaculately kept fur. Max, who loves spending time in the garden almost as much as I do. It can't be helped - I love Max - orange fur and all.

Our dog, Simba, does not like Max and never has. Every chance she gets, Simba chases Max and barks him up a tree or under the pool lounge. And Boo, who is normally very docile and laid back, becomes very aggressive towards him, so we can't leave the two of them alone together in a small space. It's never Max that makes the hostile move. I'm not even sure if he's capable of it. He's just here to love and be loved by us and if everyone understands that fact, we'll all get along just fine, thankyouverymuch.

Tonight, Max is outside somewhere. He was out with us earlier in the day, while we were taking pictures of the incredible results of yesterday's blizzard, but when we came back into the house, he was nowhere to be found. In warmer weather, he's been known to disappear for a couple of days at a time, and we don't worry a whole lot, because he always has come back none the worse for wear, and after all, he was out there on his own before he found us.

Cats have incredible survival skills, but it's -5° at the moment, dark, and we don't know where he is. He's our boy and we want him safe and warm. Tonight, I pray that God has provided shelter for him wherever he is, and I hope to see him sitting on the bench on the back patio in the morning, as he has done so many times in the past when he returned from visiting The Queen.


UPDATE: As of 2:00 this afternoon, Max is enjoying the warmth and security of my computer chair. Warm because he's inside the house, and secure because with him and me in the chair together, it's pretty snuggly. I'm once more a happy girl, and I swear Max is smiling, too.