To the Max, pt. 1

So…this post is an obvious attempt to quell my wife’s repeated attempts to get me to ‘write something about the cats! It would be so funny!’

Here we go.

Last October my wife added a new cat to our small family, bringing our total cat population to 4.

That’s a LOT of cats for a non-cat person (me)  to deal with.

The new cat, Max, was a tiny little ball of black fur with huge green eyes. He was uber-cute and my wife was completely taken with him. I wasn’t fooled. I’d noticed the ridiculously sharp claws tipping every tiny little kitty toe. This innocent little furball was armed to -kill-. Little did I know how ready he was. That beneath his huge-eyed, innocent little stare lay the soul of a Viking berserker combined with the same guilt-free, perky desire to “play” that Jason Vorhees is famous for.

But in the beginning, he was just super-cute and exactly what my lady needed to cheer up, so how could I say no?

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