June 25, 2000
Home Again
Max is home. After nearly two weeks, he's back in the house, and he is a greatly changed kitty.
Saturday morning, about 11 am, I got a phone call. It was a man saying he'd been trying to reach me, but didn't want to leave a message on the answering machine. He'd found a black cat a week prior, he said. He didn't want to get my hopes up, but if I wanted to come take a look at him, I could. I dressed in a hurry, but I didn't hold out much hope. Three times prior, I'd gotten a call from someone who'd seen him, someone who knew where he was, and nothing.
The man, late-middle aged, looking like he'd just woke up and smoking a cigarette, let me into his house. I almost didn't go in. He creeped me out a bit. He went on and on about how he'd found the cat, described him as a "real love bug", and talked about how sick the cat had been. "He was so dirty, covered in garage grease and dirt. He couldn't hold food down, he had diarrhea..." The litany went on. I saw the cat, and my heart sank. It wasn't Max. It couldn't be Max. This cat was bedragged and lethargic, and didn't answer when I called him, nor showed any sign of recognition. I shook my head, "No... I don't think that's him." I went over and picked him up. He didn't feel right. Too skinny -- although I knew Max had probably lost weight -- and he didn't want me to hold him. He didn't want to be held at all. His fur, although about the right color, was matted and fluffy and tangled, and looked nothing like Max's glossy, fine coat.
I thanked the man and started to leave. The cat meowed. It sounded nothing like Max. Nothing. It was hoarse and tiny and pitiful. The man said when he'd found the cat, it had no voice at all, and was just starting to get it back. Abruptly, the cat flopped on the carpet, exactly like Max. He looked up at me, and his face was so similar. So similar that I leaned over and called, "Maxie, come here, Maxie." Slowly, the cat got up and walked across the man's living room to me. I tested him several times, and each time, he ignored 'Max' and came to 'Maxie'. I realized that's what I usually call him. Finally I was so undecided I knew I couldn't take the chance that it was Max. I agreed to take him. The man, while nice, was creepy, as I said, and promptly told me that Max had bitten him during a bath and that Max was under quarrantine. I told him I would call the animal shelter, then skedaddled as quick I could from the man's house.
Max fought me the whole way. He did not want to go outside. He did not want to get in the car. I was disheartened, wavering between absolute certainty that it was Max, and absolute certainty that it was not Max. Finally, I got him in the house. He started checking everything out. He found his food dish. He went in and used the litter box. He checked out his old haunts. I called my mom and left a message for her, then called Brand and woke him up. I started to tell him about Max, and just lost it. I started blubbering like a baby as I talked on the phone and followed Max around the house. I was sad, I was scared, and I was so relieved I couldn't stand it. Then I took Max to the vet, who said he seemed healthy enough, and gave him some medicine for the diarrhea and an antibiotic in case he'd picked up an infection.
Once we got home, Max went and hid under my bed, where he stayed for the rest of the day. The more I watched him, the more certain I was it was Max.
Later that night, after Jo and Eric left, I had a chance to brush Max and pet him, and I realized it really was him. Every mannerism I see now, where he hangs out in the house, how he walks, how he eats, I know it's him. He's breaking my heart. Where he was once a talkative cat, he's silent. His voice is hoarse and nearly gone. I'm hoping it comes back. He needs to be groomed, badly. He needs more grooming that I can manage, so I'll be taking him to a groomer after I move. But what hurts the most is seeing how wary he is, even of me. He'll let me pet him, but he hasn't jumped in my lap once, and doesn't like for me to hold him. He's weak and sick. Jumping up onto the couch takes an effort. I think that's why he didn't sleep in my bed last night. He couldn't jump up there.
I'm still worried, but I'm so glad he's home.
Posted by Lisa at June 25, 2000 08:19 PM
