Happy dog days of summer, Max supporters!

The high school from which I graduated had a fantastic theater department, with five full productions annually. I was very active in the department, both on-stage and behind-the-scenes, and, during my senior year, I was the stage manager for our production of The Sound of Music. During the past couple of months, when I visit Max, I have flashbacks to a particular song that perfectly describes our favorite enigmatic feline. With apologies to Rodgers and Hammerstein:

o/~ How do you solve a problem like the Max-man? o/~

It seems, for at least right now, the answer is Prozac… lots and lots of Prozac. You may remember from last month that Max did not do well while off of his medication. He was fighting with Trey all UFC-Battle-Royale-style. So the veterinary staff decided the best thing for Max was to put him back on medication. The challenge became figuring out the proper dose.

Shortly after Max was on Prozac, I went to visit him with the hope that the Max who heard Frankie Valli whenever I entered the room would be the Max who greeted me. For a few minutes, it seemed that Frankie Valli was indeed in the air. Max laid atop his cage purring softly as I petted him. I thought all was right in the world. Unfortunately, Max did not feel the same way. He turned without warning and CHOMP! He took my entire wrist into his mouth. In shock, I involuntarily let out a shout, which scared him, and he let go. There was actually no damage done; he thankfully did not break my skin. I told the powers that be about this incident, and the verdict was unanimous: Max is undermedicated.

When next I visited, I nervously walked up to where he was laying. I reached out to pet him… and he turned his head quickly as if to bite, thought better of it, and fired off a warning meow instead. I heeded his warning and left. I again spoke with the powers that be, and again the verdict was unanimous: Max needed more Prozac. (Of course, I am oversimplifying. With each incident that I [or anyone] report, Max is evaluated by veterinary staff, who then determine the best course of treatment. In Max’s case, the veterinary staff felt that, based on their evaluation and observation, his Prozac dose needed to be increased.)

On my third visit, I was understandably apprehensive. After all, would Max try to bite me again, or would the proverbial third time be a charm? I took a deep breath and entered Adoption Room #2. Max was lying on the settee and immediately began to chat with me, just as he did when I first met him. I sat down next to him, and he was already purring. I began petting him, and his purrs grew louder. As I cautiously leaned forward, he rested his head against my forehead. Aaaah yes… THIS was the Max I know and love! Once again, Frankie Valli filled the air of Adoption Room #2.

Thanks to your support, Max is once again living happily in Adoption Room #2. Sure, there is absolutely no love lost between Max and Trey, but there are no more Battle Royales, either. It is truly only because of your generosity that Max is once again enjoying life. I am so very grateful for your love of Max. I hope you enjoy the remaining few weeks of summer and have a safe Labor Day weekend.