Maxwell and his Tongue

This is Maxwell. He is all boy. He goes 100 miles per hour, or none at all.
He may look innocent, but if you are perhaps wearing a swishy skirt while preparing dinner, he may just try to climb aforementioned swishy skirt to get to you, the chicken or whatever else has caught his interest at the moment.

He may do a drive-by “catting”, which requires his paw, your leg and a lot of speed. Or he may just decide to meow incessantly while winding his way in and out of your feet up until the point you accidentally step on his already broken tail. That is our Maxwell.

 

This is also Maxwell, but at 0 miles per hour. He fell asleep apparently mid-lick. He has no clue my shutter is snapping millimeters away from his fuzzy and slightly orange face.

 

I must have taken 15 shots of this scene, never awakening “0 m.p.h Max”. This moment in time was such a reprieve from his normal antics that I dared not awaken him.

 

Bianca, sunning herself quietly, thanked me profusely-as any cat does with a tiny flick of her tail and squinty eyes.
The house was quiet for almost five minutes.