Monica Ackerman

By now you have probably met Maxximus. He was the feral baby of my household. He is my senior cat, age 7, which is about 40 in human years, my hand raised, bottle-fed baby who has never learned that he is a cat. Even introducing two other cats into the household has not given him an inkling of an idea how to behave as a cat. He sits in wonderment and studies the strange goings on between girl-cat Chelsea, age 3, and boy-cat Charlie, age 2 as they chase each other around the house, lick each other furiously, and play fight with ears back and paws raised. Then they crash into deep sleep, curled up next to each other on the bed or the sofa, while he sits at a distance, ever aware and alert, watching and waiting to see what they will do next.

Maxx is, however, not only my faithful companion, but he watches over me. He was 6 years old when I adopted first Chelsea, and a year later found Charlie in my back yard. He was an only child until then. He was a feral baby and as he grew up he looked and acted more and more like a Maine Coon. He is mildly aloof and loving on his own terms. He is loyal and regal and the ruler of his domain.

He is the only one who greets me at the door when I come home, but only to see that I’m safely in the door, and he walks me to the door when I leave. He never makes a move to walk out with me, whereas the other two always eye the open door as if to wait for an opportunity to make a dash for freedom. I constantly have to remind them with a quick “inside” that they are inside cats. Since Chelsea was adopted from the shelter and Charlie was a stray I found outside I know they have both tasted freedom.

Maxximus does not know the outside world. The one time he accidentally got outside at age one, when someone left the door wide open, he cowered under a shrub right outside the door and waited to be rescued. He looked as though if he could have burrowed into the ground he would have. He was shaking all over and looked at me so pitifully when I picked him up, I knew he would never leave the house again. When he greets me at the door he licks my hand probably to see if I had been petting the outside cats and then he walks away, pretending not to care - but I know he’s happy to see me. He does not fool me. His bushy tail is straight up in the air while he saunters nonchalantly around the corner.

But, when I make any noise in the middle of the night, be it coughing or sneezing, or even snoring, which I know I do occasionally because I wake myself up with the sudden noise, he comes into the bedroom , jumps on the bed and stares at me. The other two sleep on my bed and could care less. Once he assures himself that I am awake and alive and well, he saunters off to wherever he sleeps and that’s the end of his visit. He is my loyal companion and my protector. Who needs a dog?

Monica Ackerman lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her cats. She's written several stories chronicling her journey from cat hater to champion of ferals and shelter animals, proving you can indeed “teach an old dog new tricks.” She is working on two books which are not about cats and a children's book that is. She can be reached at Email and feedback is welcome.