By Shelly Runyon*

My roommate has two Maine Coon cats, Maximilian and Diesel.

Max has dark tan and brown stripes in his fluffy mane. When he sits, he commands a presence like no other cat I’ve known.

Diesel, his gray twin with flat fur, is as big as Max but looks small and meek next to his brother. He naps on chests and laps, and loves to share the pillow with his owner at night. But most of the time, he plays little spoon to Max.

Every day I fall in love with their adorable, sweet demeanors, until I remember they can be the most annoying cats I’ve ever met.

Diesel has random bursts of energy, which he seems to enjoy directing at me. One minute he’s conked out, and the next he thunders down the hallway.

Out of the corner of my eye I see him flying through the air, and then I feel him riding on my shoulders like a parrot. I don’t dare move, lest he digs deeper into my back, or worse, a sudden move causes him to slide all the way down and I end up mauled.

But the scratch marks and heart pounding surprise attacks are by far more tolerable than Max’s antagonistic ways.

Max is obsessed with water and spends his days seeking out new sources. The bathroom sink, inside my morning cup of coffee, cans of soda — everything must be thoroughly investigated.

He finds glasses on top of dressers, windowsills and anywhere else an absent mind might place one. If he can stick his head in, he will.

Like a kid bobbing for apples in a bucket, Max swishes his nose from side to side in the glass until his face is deep into the rippling water, and then he laps it up in his mouth.

Usually I’m right there, folding laundry, reading or doing some other activity that places me just too far away to stop him. When I’m lucky, I catch him early enough to give him a stern look and a yell as I take away the coveted liquid.

When I’m not so lucky, and he drinks the glass down to the point where he can no longer reach the water, he’ll move the glass around with his paws to provoke a splash.

He might play with the glass for minutes before remembering how much fun it is to flip the glass over and drink its contents off the floor. The higher the table it rests on, the greater seems the reward.

This is how a typical incident plays out…

I’m distracted with chores and don’t see Max next to me on the windowsill drinking down the water in my glass. I will look up right as he’s pushing it towards the edge.

“Max,” I say sternly.

I stop what I’m doing and approach him. Unaffected, he follows me with his eyes, all the while pushing the glass closer to the edge. As it is about to teeter over, I stand only an arm’s length away.

He looks directly into my eyes, bends his paw at the wrist and flicks the glass right over the edge. All four of our eyes follow it to the floor and watch it shatter to pieces, water splashing everywhere.

“Maaaax!!” I yell, and then I hear the thundering of Diesel down the hall.

Instinctively I bend over to pick up the wet chunks of glass. As if it were a tag team maneuver in annoyance, I see the little one flying through the air and feel him land on my back. Claws in.

Diesel peers over my shoulder and rubs his face in mine. I stand straight up, and he flips off my back, taking DNA with him. I lunge for him, catch him in mid air and thrust him under one arm. Then I grab Max with my other hand and toss them through the nearest doorway, close them in and return to clean up the broken glass.

I swear off any future interactions with them and am thankful that these cats don’t belong to me.

At least until I open the door to let them out and find them cuddled together in a ball — Diesel licking the splashed water off of Max as he purrs.

And I’m in love again.

* Shelly Runyon lives and writes in Boston, MA. She is pursuing a master’s degree in Journalism at Harvard University Extension School.

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