Mighty Max

This morning, as I stood at the sink filling the coffee pot, I spotted, through the kitchen window, the reigning king of the farm strolling down the sidewalk.  The massive black and white cat didn't look to the right or left but sauntered along with a pensive look on his face.  I followed his progress and soon saw the reason for his somber approach.  The yellow house cat was snoozing peacefully on the porch chair, the king's rightful spot.   Through some radar, she awoke with a start and immediately sighted the unamused tom gazing thoughtfully at her.  With the immediate action that only cats can achieve, she flowed from the chair and removed herself from the porch.  The big tom continued strolling to the chair and with surprising grace and ease launched his bulk to the seat and settled in for a nap.  The king had arrived.

He wasn't always the king.  He arrived at the farm as one of a pair of tiny kittens deposited there by my daughter.  It was a rather curious route that he took to get there.  It seems that my daughter's room-mate's brother had a new baby and his cat also had kittens.  The wife decided one baby was enough, so the kittens had to go.  The sister took the kittens to Louisville to the pet shop to get rid of them.  The pet shop said they were too young and to bring them back in a few weeks.  The kittens then went to the girl's apartment but were ejected by the apartment super and the terms of their lease.  So, naturally, my daughter brought them home to mama.  Weirdly enough, they had originally started at the brother's farm only a mile or so from our house.

The kittens, only barely old enough to lap softened gruel, settled in with the house cat of the time.  This was a long, haired black tom (also deposited a couple of years earlier by the daughter).  We watched apprehensively as the tiny orphans toddled toward the tom as he basked in front of the fire.  Although he had been neutered, (Something I insist on.  It's cheaper than feeding masses of offspring) he was still a tom at heart and I wasn't sure he wouldn't harm the babies.  Upon arriving at his warm, fuzzy side the babies immediately nuzzled into the fur, rooting around looking for a "milk faucet" as the kids say.  I started forward anxiously but hubby placed a restraining hand on my arm, "Let's wait and see a bit.", he murmured.

The tom opened one eye and looking slightly puzzled lifted his head to stare at the nuzzling kittens.  I held my breath.  He raised himself up, slightly, and gazed at them fixedly.  I tensed.  The kittens, oblivious, nuzzled on, now making slight sucking sounds.  He moved around and reached his big head toward the little mites.  I started to move, then I stopped in amazement. He was slowly licking the top of the nearest kitten's head while he gently repositioned himself so he could reach the other kitten, too.  From that moment on he became the surrogate mother for the two little toms. 

He taught them well.  They both grew to become great hunters and mousers.  They eventually moved to the barn and soon the old tom left the house to become a barn cat with them.  They grew (and grew) to become large, sleek, swaggering toms (well, almost toms, since they too were neutered.)  When the top barn cat died of old age, little Max, now a massive veteran barn cat, became the undisputed king.  He's a benevolent dictator, but his rule is absolute. 

Even the dog practically salutes.