I have always wanted a senior cat or dog. I love puppies and kittens just like the next person, but I have truly always had a dream tearing into a shelter, finding the oldest and most pathetic animal there, the one that no one is likely to adopt, and breaking it out of there.
Yesterday, I did just that.
His name is Max and he is almost 11 years old. He was so loving to me and I looked in his eyes and they said, "You're not leaving without me, so you might as well get that thought out of your head right now."
So now, he's mine. Or I'm his. But the reality of that is one that is heartbreaking to me for many reasons, the number one being that I only have a limited amount of time to enjoy his company. I have another cat who we adopted when he was a kitten and I love him. But with Max, it's different. I feel like I need to spend more time loving him because his time on our Earth it so much smaller.
I was told that he wasn't a feral, but had never been inside of a home. He's been a stray his whole life. For ten years he was a forest cat. He was being fed by the neighborhood, but he survived by will alone. He has scars, so I know he has had to fight for everything in this world, and his resilience is inspiring to me.
It's almost like when I took him in, I could feel him relax a little bit. He doesn't have to fight anymore and for that I am thankful. He's a gorgeous boy, but definitely not on that we will be entering into any cat shows. His paws are stained with dirt and blood from his time outside. Stephan, our other cat, who has walked on carpet his whole life, has soft little paw pads, while Max's are callused and worn. His hair is matted and it took lots of brushing to get them out. His ears have bite marks. He has scars from fights.
Despite all of this, I'm glad he's with us. I hope that however much longer he has on this Earth, that he can breathe a sigh of relief. Max, you're home.