All Max the cat wanted was a home.
He didn’t have one that day many years ago when my daughter discovered him curled up in the corner of a park near our house, frozen with fear and overheating on a scorching summer afternoon.
Max was a house cat – he’d been neutered. But now, he was separated from home. Nobody knows why. Maybe his owners abandoned him. Perhaps Max – who was very inquisitive – boarded someone’s truck unseen and was transported away from his home.
How he got there didn’t matter anymore. Now, he had a second home.
Not that it was all easy for him. There were other cats in the house, one of which didn’t get along with him. Seven years ago, he was outside and got attacked, apparently by a much larger animal.
When I found Max that day, he was bleeding from the mouth and torn up inside. He nearly didn’t make it. The vets recommended giving him one more day and if there was no progress, it would be time to euthanize him.
On the day of decision, Max stood for the first time, took some wobbly steps and ate food. Down to his final hours, he clung to life and began to heal.
Sometimes, the final word is a purr.
“All he wanted was a home”
When I was divorced five years ago, Max came with me to his third home and was my companion. I’d arrive home from work and he was there to welcome me and demand attention.
He made sure I never came home to an empty house.
At night, he would jump on the bed and put his paw on my wrist as he curled in for sleep, wanting to feel that flesh-to-flesh connection. It was soothing.
When I moved a year ago, Max came along to his fourth home. He was content so long as he got a little tuna each day and a lot of attention.
After he nearly died in that attack years ago, Max’s need for attention and affection increased and could become annoying. He wanted to be petted nonstop. There were times I’d push him away or tell him to go away because it was too much.
Today, I miss the annoyance.
Max quickly went downhill over the weekend. He was 14 years old. Renal failure. It happens. Only one humane option left.
“Paw to wrist, heart to heart”
The vet gave him a sedative as he lay on my lap. I cradled Max’s head with my hand, reassured him everything was going to be OK, told him I loved him, and promised we would remain connected always.
He reached out his paw and touched my right forearm, maintaining our connection with his final breaths.
Gloria and I brought him home and buried him in the warm and welcoming shadow of his fourth home, even as he takes up residence in his fifth.
I believe the Creator of Life would never abandon a beloved creature or push them away. No, the God of Love cherishes and wants connections with us and among us: paw to wrist, hand to hand, heart to heart.
And home. God provides a loving home to all, no matter which number it is – first, second or fifth.
Welcome home, Max.
Living Gracefully 
This made me cry, recalling my last day in March with 19-year-old Billie the Kitty. On the way to the vet, that day, I told her all about my favorite memories of the years she was with me. She, like Max, seemed to trust me in the final moments as she passed on. Thank you for sharing. Max was a lucky cat!
Hi Nancy! Wow, Billie the Kitty lived 19 years. What a wonderful time you had with her! Thank you for your memories and your story of her final moments, which brings me tears, too. I know what you mean about feeling that they trust you in those moments. I felt that when Max put out his paw on my forearm, finding security in our connection. I was lucky to have him, and Billie was a lucky kitty as well. I sense that our connections with them are sustained and will be renewed in times to come. Peace!
Love is a gift – the true home of our hearts … whether human or cat … and love does not die … love is life, itself.
That’s beautiful Celia, and so true. Thank you for this! Joe
Thank you for sharing this, made me read up! 🥺♥️
And thank you Aayusi!