The Chronicles of Max Chapter I - Max Appears
Chapter One - Max Appears
I wanted a dog. I really, really wanted a mid-sized dog that was the spitting image of my dog Lucy and had her loving nature, only in a smaller size. Lucy was my most favourite pet ever. She was a husky-shepherd-golden retriever mix with the best characteristics of all three breeds. She was my best friend and constant companion. We went everywhere together, she was the light of my life and I had lost her only 10 months earlier.
LUCY
What I got was Max. Maximilian Q. Maine Coon Cat. He was a stray that had been found up a tree on Halloween night. We estimated his age at 3-4 months when he was turned in to the Animal Control Officer who asked me if I might want a kitten. I hesitated. I had just lost my Maggie (a gorgeous Maine Coon purebred) two weeks before but I agreed to foster him until the owners could be found. So Max came home with me. It was November 1st.
MAX
It was odd how Max appeared the very day that I had decided to let go and let God decide if I was to get another pet. That morning I had woken up thinking that if I was meant to have another pet, it would just appear without me taking any action and if it didn’t, I wasn’t meant to have another pet right now. You see I had been struggling with the idea of getting another pet because I already had a cat, Eloise. She was the issue of a Maine Coon and a God-Knows-What. Maggie was her mom but Eloise was long-legged, short-haired, lithe, active and sweet. Maggie was none of those things. Maggie was beautiful but snappy and quick to take offence. I called her Ninja cat when she and Eloise first came to live with me because if you made the mistake of picking her up, she went into full attack mode – claws bared and no mercy. Fact is she didn’t know how to retract her claws, poor thing. Carpet was murder for her to walk on. Over the years, she grew to love me and even though she never quite lost her wild side, I loved her dearly. It was like taming a wild beast, the bond is a little more special. She was a large cat, topping the scales at 20 lbs at her peak but in the last year of her life, she dropped to 15 lbs and I began to worry about her. She grew to be so crippled up in the last year that she was with me that I couldn’t bear it any more. She was 13 when she left my side forever. My Maggie… I miss her so.
MAGGIE MAE
Eloise was 12 years old then and had never learned how to play with another cat. She adored my Lucy and had spent a lot of time following her around. She was used to the company of dogs, I had three when Maggie and Eloise arrived on the scene. Neighbours’ dogs hung out at my house, too, but Eloise loved Lucy best. She would sleep curled up at Lucy’s side purring incessantly although I suspect the good feelings were all on Eloise’s side.
LUCY & ELOISE
Maggie and Eloise never did get along. Once she had been weaned, Maggie turned on her and refused to have anything to do with her. All those two ever did was fight when they were in the same room together. As they grew older, they would tolerate each other but it was an uneasy peace. Eloise and I had two weeks together in the silence left by Maggie’s departure and then I sic’d Max on her…
Yikes.
That first day there was a whole lotta hissing and spitting going on in my house. Nobody was very happy with the arrangement. It became apparent that I would have to separate the two cats until they could get used to each other. Eloise lived in the main rooms of the house and Max was relegated to the laundry/mudroom. He didn’t like it ONE BIT. And my French door bore the brunt of his discontent. I spent more time sitting in the laundry room with him keeping him company than I did sitting on the couch. The things I do for my pets!
THE REAL MAX REVEALS HIMSELF...
The thing about Eloise was that she would not let me rest at night. She toured the bed, walked back and forth on my pillow, tried to get as close to me as she could and if that didn’t succeed, she clawed at the curtains to get my attention. That ploy worked. And that’s why she usually slept in the laundry/mudroom. Except Max was there now. Maximilian the terrible. Crap.
Another down side to this arrangement was the extra litter box in MY bathroom. Ugh. Kitty litter is something I heartily dislike. I can put up with all the other cat stuff, but litter boxes. YUCK! So now there was a litter box, a scoop, a broom and dust pan in my bathroom. And Max, whenever he was released from his prison of the mudroom, made a beeline for that litter box and proceeded to flick litter helter-skelter as he tunneled to China. Sigh. What the heck was I thinking??
Every night when I got home from work and released Max, he would race out of the laundry room like a bat out of hell. His favourite thing to do was to tear down the hallway into my bedroom and leap onto the bed where he proceeded to fight with the faux fur throw, launch himself into the cushions and pillows and then bounce around like a jumping bean for half an hour. You’d think that would tire him out, but oh no, not Maxie. It seemed to egg him on. Evenings were not a relaxing time for Eloise and me anymore.
On the weekends, Max would sleep most of the daytime hours and become this snuggly, soft, furry love bug that wanted nothing more than to be as close to me as possible. He was so loveable in his sleepy moods. He began to tug at my heart in the way he had when I first laid eyes on him. Back when he was in shock from whatever chased him up that tree. Back when he gave the impression he was a calm, staid little fella that could get along with anyone and anything. Yep. Colour me fooled.
MAX
By week four, I had had little sleep and my patience was wearing dangerously thin. Max was always on top of Eloise, trying to wrestle her to the ground or jump on her back or tussle with her. He was quite aggressive already. I know that these are all things he would have done with his litter mates and they would have had a grand old time, but Eloise hated it. I considered giving Max to the SPCA. He was still young enough to find a new home easily. No one had called, inquired, put a message on the radio or in the lost & found about him. He had either been dumped or born from a feral cat. Either way, I only had two options – keep him or give him away. I gave him a deadline of December 10th. If there was no improvement in the relationship between the two cats, he was gone.
MAX & ELOISE
On November 29th, I decided it was time to see how the two cats would manage if they were both left together in the mudroom. I closed the door on them during the day and waited to see what would happen. After a few minutes, Max was sleeping in his box by the window and Eloise was crouched in the far corner. No fighting. Whew!
That night I made them sleep together in that space as well. There was some fighting but overall, it was okay and I got my first full night’s sleep since Max had become a part of our lives. After a couple of nights’ sleep, I was able to find the patience to deal with Max’s extreme energy. He was referred to as the Tasmanian devil for the first month he lived with us, and he lived up to his nickname.
The cats were now sleeping in the same space and I had some peace at night. Little Max got a stay of execution – so to speak.
End of Chapter One
With a small budget, big dreams and a love of a challenge, Anne blogs about renovating and decorating her tiny 1930s bungalow. A self-taught artist and professed power tool lover, she enjoys writing, gardening, photography, nature and diy'ing. And she's never met a dumpster she didn’t want to root through! Come along for the ride!!
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