As the Great Bard once wrote, “The devil hath power to assume a pleasing shape.” So it was with Maxwell and the Hartley’s, who fell madly in love with the black and white cat who appeared out of nowhere on their front doorstep on the coldest day in Winter.
“We can’t leave the poor fella out there to freeze!” Argued Tommy, the eldest child with fourteen years under his belt.
“That’s right!” Chimed in Suzie, second in line chronologically who clocked in at age eleven.
“Right!” Hollered Amy, the youngest at age eight.
They met with little resistance from the parents, who after a decade and a half of parenting were fairly well beaten down to a pulp by their rambunctious children. “Let’s name him Maxwell,” said Mrs. Hartley, who didn’t realize that she was merely responding to a telepathic prompt from the cat. The cat wasn’t an ordinary cat. He was a demon from Hell, Satan’s spawn, literally.
“You kids think you’re pretty slick,” said Mr. Hartley. “Don’t you? Well, I’ve got a feeling this cat is going to give you kids a run for your money.” He plied the children with the usual lecture regarding the responsibilities of pet ownership, feeding, petting and all that. The children barely listened. They were too busy fighting for control of the cat. The cat was busy sizing up the brood.
What is Satan thinking? Maxwell asked himself.