Welcome to the Occupation
The Stage: 16 Feet of Vertical Audacity
Welcome to Maine Characters, a digital archive documenting what happens when 35 pounds of Maine Coon apex predator occupies 16 feet of vertical real estate—in your house.
Most people design their living rooms for comfort, conversation, or perhaps a nice rug. We designed ours for the inevitable. We built a 16-foot, structural-grade cat monument thinking it would provide "enrichment." Instead, we just created a high-altitude vantage point for the beasts to stalk us from. Now, our living room isn't a room; it’s a biome occupied by beasts. It’s a vertical jungle gym where gravity is a suggestion, and my morning coffee is a target.
The Overlords: Two Brothers, One Brain Cell
Onyx | The Beast
Onyx is the older brother and a certified menace in a fur coat. He is a meat-head of a cat whose primary hobby is dismantling my peace and property. Whether he’s launching a 20-pound parkour assault on the drywall at 3:00 AM or testing the structural integrity of his own skull by running headfirst into closing doors, Onyx lives life at 100mph with 0% brakes. He has go-go-gadget arms, a pathological need for your pencils, and a food drive that makes a Great White Shark look picky. Nothing is safe with the Beast around and you better store your open beverage container in a locked cabinet. This guy is also a big goofy sweetheart—which is exactly how he gets away with it all.
Obsidian | Snuggles
Obsidian is the younger, daintier brother. With eyes that look like they’ve witnessed the birth of a galaxy, you’d expect him to be a font of ancient wisdom. But he is not. Obsidian is a himbo—one of those stunningly handsome men with an inner monologue that is just a DVD screensaver bouncing off the corners of his skull.
He is aggressively snuggly and treats personal space as a personal insult. The second a human sits down, Obsidian launches his 18-pound frame onto your lap and makes biscuits on your throat. Resistance is futile. You are now a human mattress.
We thought he was a simple man, content to cuddle and play with paper towel tubes all day, until the 16-foot tree went up. Now, he summits the peak like a stone-cold predator, hanging off it like a squirrel and stalking me from above. He is truly a man of mystery, but we are certain of one thing: he possesses no more than one brain cell.
The Staff: The Voice in the Chaos
Then there’s us. He is the chief tree engineer and mouse sushi chef, and I am the narrator and primary target for the early morning parkour strikes from the ceiling.
I’m just a woman with a raspy voice and a dream of a house that doesn't smell like mice. People in the comments tell me I have "vocal fry," that I sound like a Starbucks order come to life, or that I should read audiobooks. But really, I’m just tired. I’m hunted, haunted, and pounced on in my own home.
I didn't choose the Maine Character life. The beasts chose it for me. I’m just here to record the collapse of my domestic authority and deliver the ridiculous updates from the frontlines of feline servitude that every cat owner (servant?) understands—like why we spend hundreds of dollars on a 16-foot monument just so Onyx can play with the box the raw materials came in.
