Ah, yes, the cat.
This is Max. As in Mad Max, from Where the Wild Things Are.
My stepfather brought him home as a young kitten a couple of years ago and my mother had to do more childproofing to her house than she ever did when my kids were little.
Some of his favorite tricks include hiding in the tub and launching himself through the shower curtain at unsuspecting souls who have just settled down on the toilet; hurtling full-tilt around the perimeter of the entire house while carrying two or three stuffed dog toys in his mouth; eating houseplants; terrorizing dogs; thrashing around under the covers in the middle of the night; and chewing up Algebra textbooks.
I was not - repeat, not - in the market for a third cat, but we were unable to find another home for him, and he was such a comfort and constant companion in my mother's last months that I felt we owed him something.
Surprisingly enough, he has assimilated well into the household, allowing the two resident felines to retain the impression they're in charge while simultaneously whipping 210 pounds of clueless canine into respectful submission.
The kids said they'd scoop the boxes if he could stay.
He's caught two mice in four days, so he's earning his keep.
I'm not rationalizing this decision....
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