Tolerance

My son and his family have two cats, a sleek black regal puss who watches you carefully from the corner of her eye and suffers your attention with complete disdain: Misha.

The other, Myrah, is a skittish tabby who bolts at the slightest loud noise.

Misha is the protector. Since Max was little she has watched over him like he was one of her own. When the carriage was pushed down the road, she trotted ahead like an ancient bodyguard. Max will pet her occasionally - a careful smoothing down on her forehead.

Poor old Myrah, however, he tantalizes half to death. The cat runs when she sees him coming but he chases her down and corners her, gets her in a tight body lock and either drags her around - only because he knows she hates it, I’m sure - or pulls her tail, throws her in a room and shuts the door. I’ve never quite figured out why. Maybe just because he can. Amazingly the cat has never nipped or scratched him. Tolerance. So when I saw this image by Mo Manning, I had to have it. Not totally satisfied with the coloring and haven’t yet made it into a card (Sending a hug your way. . .) but here it is.

Are they not the perfect fit? I think Mo must have a Max in her house!

The ‘look’ , by the way, is Max explaining why he shouldn’t have to put the cat down.