R.I.P.

The nine lives of Maxwell Smart the cat have come to an end. Last Sunday, as the warmth of a February sun comforted us, we said our goodbyes with a purple and yellow crocus bouquet, a cross made by my youngest, and a tidy little burial place dug by my oldest son. It's a relief to know that his body is now at rest, but we still miss him.



Rest in peace, Max.

The marketing campaign has already begun for a new cat. Mom is, understandably, reluctant, but she is already weakening. When my dear cat Murphy died two summers ago, I was firmly convinced that there was no room in my heart or my life for another cat. We left on vacation only to return and find a white, scrawny puff of a cat on our back hill. He checked us out for a few days and made the decision to join the family. What I thought about it didn't seem important to him, but he did manage to win my hard heart pretty quickly. His only complaint, eighteen months later, is that we have him as an outside cat. This scrawny puff has transformed into the largest, furriest cat I have ever owned, and he is beginning to convince us that indoors is his rightful spot. Since Mom prefers to have a cat indoors, we think that we might have a match here. We'll see.


The irresistible puff with a mind of his own.