Max.
Whenever I called his name, he would come. Max could be doing something he loved - sleeping, eating, basking in the sun - would stop, and run to me on his furry paws. The fluffy fur on his back legs always made him look like he was wearing Russian pants, tucked into tall boots.
Max was impressively kind, infallibly friendly. Sometimes, it would seem like he was making arrangements for his next home by sitting blissfully on the laps of strangers. In fact, he was singularly loyal. Max just loved people, and didn't mind loud noises, amplifiers, or housewarming parties.
He did mind the vacuum.
Max weathered every transition of my adult lifetime, hoping only for pets between his ears, a constant supply of food, and whenever possible, water directly from the bathroom faucet. He also coveted buffalo chicken wings.
My fuzzy gray cat said very little most of the time. When he did, his sweet meow could be quiet or proudly loud – crowing in the wee hours about catching his cohort Mini Max for the umpteenth time.
Mostly, Mini Max traveled mysteriously. We rarely saw them together, but we did hear Max's night time announcements about his apparent victories. One day I was particularly stealthy, and happened upon Max tossing his toy lookalike into the air - and catching him! Clearly, Max had a few secrets.
I miss him. And, I wish him hugs, pets and buffalo chicken wings in the great kitty beyond.
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