For the first six months after Max moved in, W kept telling me I was picking him up the wrong way and might hurt him. Max seemed to agree. Whenever I tried to lift him, he would get away.
Ironically, Max seemed perfectly content in W's arms. W could drape him over his shoulder and carry him around like a baby.
It took almost a year before Max finally relaxed in my arms when I did exactly what W had taught me: hold him close to my body with one arm and support his feet with the other. Maybe I still wasn’t as steady as W. Maybe Max was nervous. Either way, he gripped my arm tightly with his front paws, his claws pressing deep into my skin.
When I put him down, I found several long scratches on my arm. They were the marks of my hard-earned trust from Max.
Im still waiting !