Well, all right, they talked to the Woman, who was all fumbly and could barely utter a coherent sentence and was generally a royal disappointment to me with her hems and haws and inability to think straight, but still. They came because of ME. Finally, the world is coming to understand and embrace the glory and awesomeness of MAX.
Of course, I graciously allowed the man with the camera to take my picture and did not try to poop on his shoes, even though that's pretty much how I feel when the People aim that flashy box at me. AND...I allowed Buddah to be photographed, too.
Once that was out of the way I retired (see how polite I am...polite kitties don't just walk away, they "retire" to another place) to upstairs where I could still hear them and keep an eye on things, but I am a considerate kitty and know when it's best to take a step back.
(No, I did not run upstairs because I was afraid or anything. I'M POLITE, dammit. CONSIDERATE.)
The article probably won't run until the 18th or so. This is good, as I need time to prepare for the many
Oh! And you know how they found me? It was because of the article written by the soon-to-be-a-Pulitzer-winner Alexandra Horowitz; it went out over the newswire and the paper here picked up on it because she mentioned where the Woman lives.
If I become rich and famous, I think I'll have to give her a cut. Like 1% of 1%. Or a bag of Cheetos. But then she has to give me back a Cheeto or two, because I really do like to lick the cheese off of those.
The Woman will probably expect something, too, but honestly, just living with me should be reward enough.