“Come on in, Maxwell,” said Satan in a deep, gravelly yet vaguely fatherly voice. Max obeyed immediately, padding into the bedroom without a second thought. When dealing with the Evil One, Maxwell had learned that Satan liked enthusiasm. If anyone complained about any little thing, Satan would take it as a personal affront.
Satan sat on the edge of his little single bed- a bare mattress. It smelled of stale beer and pizza. Maxwell rubbed his whiskers against the edge of the Evil One’s hand, and let the shivers of pleasure run from his head, down his spine and down to the tip of his tail.
“What egregious acts of mayhem may I perform at your behest, Master?” Asked Maxwell in his cheeriest tone.