This week I again ventured into the mysterious – and somewhat unnerving – realm of the feline. Max Shepherd is a 16-year-old rescue who spent most of his life on a ranch in Colorado, and, Dog! did he have a story to tell.
Max lives in Indian River Shores with his humans, Gail and Dan. Soon as me and my assistant knocked, the door opened and there he was, next to his Mom, greeting us, not hanging behind her, like most cats do. He was slim, with short, thick fur, dark gray and white, and a mostly white face, with black splotches that gave him a very friendly look, surprisingly spry for his age.
“Hello, young fella! I’m Maximus Catus Shepherd, but everybody calls me Max. Come’on in!” He led the way into his living room. “This is my Mom and Dad. Take a load off!”
He was totally NOT mysterious, I thought, surprised. “Can’t wait to hear your story, Mr. Max,” I told him, opening my notebook.
“Let me know if I’m going too fast,” he said. “When I was a young tomcat, about 3, I’d say, I lived with several other animals in a horse trailer near Pagosa Springs, Colorado. It was a bad situation. We were almost wild and most of us were sick. It was so bad the Humane Society had to bust in and rescue us.
“Mom and Dad had a ranch nearby, and Dad worked in Chicago and commuted, so Mom adopted me. I could never figure out what she saw in me but I’m glad she did. I was a mess. Ratty fur, sick. Pretty wild. Scared – when Dad came home and Mom brought me out, all he could say was, ‘What IS that?’
“They had to shave me, and keep me in the barn because I went nuts in the house. I’d never seen a house. Finally, little by little, we warmed up to each other. I loved that barn. And when I finally got the nerve to go outside it was like another world – 70 acres to run and hunt in. Dogs and horses to play with, especially Mom’s horse, Crystal. But my very best pal was Mom’s and Dad’s dog, Cassandra.
“Mom wanted a big dog for when Dad was away. Cass was a rescue like me, a Great Pyrenees/Anatolian Shepherd mix. BIG. Just a pup when we got her. She was even shyer than I’d been. She’d likely been abused, would cringe when humans came near. But not with me. Cass’d stay in the barn, and I’d pat her face (with a softpaw) and lick her real gently. Then she let me curl up with her to nap. We became best friends, never thought about being different species.”
I was fascinated with Max’s story. Talking about Cass, he got a faraway look in his eyes.
“Finally, she was comfortable enough to come in the house. But she’d never seen stairs. She’d stand at the top or bottom and just look. Didn’t know what to do. So I’d pat her feet, go up a couple stairs, come back down, pat her again. I coaxed her to take a step, then more, ‘til she got it. And we’d hunt together. Dad put a chalkboard in the barn labelled “Known Kills.” There were mice, rabbits, voles, moles, chipmunks, even bats on that list. Cass’d smell a rodent and growl. Then I’d crouch low and pounce. Ah, we were a fine team. We handled the critters for the farm, and watched out for each other.”
I’m pretty sure I saw tears in his eyes. “What happened,” I asked quietly.
“She went to Animal Heaven. I mourned for years. Still have my moments. Then a couple years back, we moved to Florida and I can tell you THAT was HARD. No barn, No fields to roam in. No cows or horses. And no Cass. I yowled that whole first year, kept trying to slip out the patio door, convinced if I could just get out, I’d be back in Colorado. I’d never seen streets. Or cars. But since then, I’ve adjusted. Love to travel, been all over: California, Boston, Sedona – flown, too.”
“What do you down here, then?”
“Well, I’m no kitten. I mostly nap. And I love company: cats, big dogs, humans, especially youngsters. Not into toys, although I play with Dad’s braided belt, and nap on Mom’s or Dad’s shoes. I use to play with Cass’s tail, it was long with a feathery plume at the end. She’d wag it and I’d bat it. I miss that.”
That’s IT!! I’d realized what I’d been trying to put my paw on: something different about Max. No tail! Zero. Nada. He’s a Manx!
“Mom and Dad’re pretty well trained,” he continued, “and when they do something I don’t care for, I give them what I call The Stink Eye. Quite effective. But we really love each other. Every day, Dad holds me and we take a walk, look at the lake, watch birds, have deep conversations. At night, we all snuggle together watching TV. Special times! I’m a fortunate feline! But to tell you the truth, I’ve always felt more like a dog than a cat. I relate more to you pooches.”
Amazed, I replied, “All during the interview, I’ve been forgetting you’re a cat.”
“Cass always said that, too,” Max sighed.
Heading home, I thought about Max and his best friend Cass. I never thought I’d say it but, I think he and I could become good friends.
Till next time,
The Bonz
