Meet Max: A Big Boy Full of Feelings & Opinions
When Max first arrived at the shelter, he weighed in at a whopping 23 pounds and immediately made one thing clear: Max had absolutely no intention of making our jobs easy.
He was a flight risk, hated being picked up, and had an impressive ability to turn a simple task into a team-building exercise nobody remembered signing up for. If Max had somewhere he wanted to be, he was going there, and we were merely obstacles with thumbs.
Then a wonderful gentleman offered to foster him, and the reports started coming in.
Apparently our furry little fugitive was… sweet?!
In the quiet of a home, Max showed a side of himself we hadn’t gotten to see. He would pull his foster’s hand toward him for more pets, seek out affection, and show just how loving he could be when he felt safe. His foster also noticed that loud noises seemed to trigger him, and there were still moments when something would suddenly send him into a fight response.
Something wasn’t adding up.
Max came back to us for a veterinary examination, and we finally found the missing piece. He was diagnosed with bridging spondylosis, a condition affecting his spine that can cause significant pain and discomfort. Max will need a steroid injection once a month, every month, for the rest of his life.
Then he got his first shot.
And, excuse us, but WHO IS THIS MAN?
The Max his foster had been telling us about showed up at the shelter.
Suddenly he was greeting us at the kennel door. He was vocal. He wanted pets. He wanted attention. He had apparently reviewed our previous level of customer service and found it severely lacking.
Turns out, Max wasn’t keeping his sweet side from us.
He hurt.
Once his pain was being managed, Max started moving more too. A 23-pound cat with a painful spine understandably wasn’t spending his free time doing laps, but our big guy has since slimmed down to 18 pounds at his most recent weigh-in.
And somewhere along the way, the cat we once had to worry about escaping became the cat waiting at the front of his kennel to see us.
That’s the part that gets us.
Because underneath the escape attempts, the protests, and those very firm boundaries was this ridiculous, affectionate, chatty boy waiting for somebody to figure out what he needed.
Now we know.
Max’s future family will be taking on a lifelong medical commitment, and we need someone who has the means to make that commitment to him. But whoever that person is won’t just be getting a cat who needs a monthly shot.
They’re getting Max.
A formerly 23-pound fugitive, currently 18-pound supervisor, professional hand-grabber, enthusiastic conversationalist, and living proof that sometimes a “difficult” animal is just an animal trying desperately to tell us something.
We figured it out, buddy.
Now all that’s left is finding the person who will keep listening. 