Picture of Max, a male Birman

Photo Comments (1)Sex: Male   Weight: 12 lbs.

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Maximus Pussycatus, Maximillian Pussycat

Kitty Complexion:
sleepyvery active
not curiousvery curious
not vocalvery vocal

Sun Sign:
Quick Bio:
-mixed breed-disabled

Gotcha Date:
September 19th 1999

September 19th 1998



I am unwilling at times to act as his mattress. He has to share the house with other cats.

Favorite Toy:

Favorite Nap Spot:

Favorite Food:
Dry cat food.

His ability to intimidate Grant - and me.


Arrival Story:
He had been owned - and declawed - by a family. His declawing resulted in the loss of part of his left front paw. Max never forgave them for this. The mother called and said if I didn't take him in, he was going to a shelter. He spent his first afternoon with his head stuck under the mattress of a bed. I had adopted him, but he didn't adopt me until a week later, when he jumped on me as I lay reading and tried to force the book out of my hand while he demanded attention.

I had two other cats when I got Max. They never gelled well. Max made one his personal punching bag. I got two black male kittens later. One became his good friend for a while, Max protecting him, until the young cat dumped Max for one of the original cats. Msx is now the alpha cat, sharing the house with one male and one female. Two years ago he survived surgery to remove a bladder stone. P.S. Max died after a long decline on August 26, 2014. I have now only the one cat, Theodora the Fat Queen, whose picture and story I must post some time.

I've Been On Catster Since:
May 30th 2012 More than 4 years!

Rosette, Star and Special Gift History

Catster Id:

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Chronicles of Apartment 344

Max Has Crossed the Bridge

September 19th 2014 6:03 pm
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Max, my old friend of fifteen years, had died.

He had been complaining about the effects of age in his diaries from last year. When he was taken in for his shots in March of this year, the vet was horrified at his weight loss. He had weighed twelve pounds at his peak. He was now seven pounds. The vet felt for a tumor, found nothing, still suspected cancer. He assured me that whatever was causing this decline, Max was not going to recover fully from it.

Max continued to get frail. I had to pick him up on the bed for him to join me for a while. He was still capable of meowing in my face for half an hour. He began to lay besides my laptop, when he wasn't laying under the stereo.

I noticed other problems, the most obvious being a trouble with his right hind leg, which for some reason seemed to get stuck in the carpet. I took him to the vet again and he diagnosed arthritis. Max weighed in at five pounds.

After Max was home, he began to have terrifying coughing fits, in which he would run all over my apartment, trying to cough up some horrible white phlegm. I had to leave my apartment for a week. The woman who looked after my cats while I was gone asked me what to do if Max died. When I got back, she told me Max was too frail to move from under the stereo while she was there.

I noticed that he no longer wanted to sleep at night with me. He began to do some new things. He began to beg food from me when I ate in front of the card table. He rarely liked what I gave him of course but I wondered if he was eating his usual food.

I also let him go out on the stair landing. In his last week, to my great surprise, he did went down the stairs to explore the complex. He had never done that the other times I'd let him out. Of course, I didn't let him out too often because he was declawed. I saw no good reason to deny him now. I saw him lay in the grass for the first time.

On his last night, I petted him on a cement railing downstairs. Theodora, a cat three times his size now, considered butting in but didn't. After all, frail, he was MAX, the cat who had demonstrated his superiority to her many a time.

After one last choking incident, I made arrangements with the vet. When I began to leave him, he broke my heart with one final yeow. The vet assistant promised she would hold him at the end. The woman who cared for him while I was gone had him buried somewhere in the earth.


2013 December Farewell to a Troubling Year

December 31st 2013 5:04 pm
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This year I endured the human's experiment with moving in a chair with wheels; an unwanted visit to a woman's house; the death of my favorite punching bag - uh, housemate, I mean; the moving of the litter pans; the continued arrogance of the silver queen; and my aging. As for the latter, there is only one cure, and I'm not ready for it.

Happy New Year!


2013 May to November A Delicate Matter, Indelicately- Handled

September 15th 2013 12:37 pm
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I have told you that the human had become angry at finding feces in his library after the cleaning woman put the litter pan in the second bathroom. I also mentioned that he had sent me away for a while because of air conditioning problems during the summer.

Well, the day after my return, he stormed into the living room from the library and roared: "AHA! IT'S YOU!" No feces when I'd been gone. Plenty when I got back. I tried to explain to him the fallacies of circumstantial evidence but he didn't give me a chance to finish. Instead he picked me up, brought me to the scene of the crime, and performed a gross physical insult upon my person that still causes my blood to boil as I remember it.

He in time realized that this method didn't work. He moved the litter pan back to the bathroom where it had been for the first fourteen years that I had been in Apt 344. I still preferred the library. He bought me my own litter pan and placed it in the library. Sometimes I used it and sometimes I didn't. He locked me out of the library. I used the living room carpet, once rather foolishly in front of him. He once, when he divined my intentions, put the litter box in the living room for my one time use. Most considerate.

After he found evidence - with his hand, and by accident - that I was urinating as well as defecating in the library, he went to his light box for answers. He poured this horrible smelling concoction over my favorite places. He put my litter pan in the small hallway that was next to the old bathroom with the litter box and which led into the library.

This did get my approval. However, he remained lazy about keeping as clean as he should. I can't put my poor damaged paws into something vile so when the two ends of the box were uncleaned I simply had to turn sideways. He didn't like that. When he caught me doing it once, he actually tried to turn me around. When I protested, he grabbed a small trash can and stuck it behind me. Again, most considerate.

Now, both litter boxes block the entrance to the library. I use them of course since it makes no sense to go over them. The human is improving or masking the smell in the library carpet with scented candles. And tensions have eased.

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