Max - A Friend To The End.

Flickr Photos Of This Wonderful Cat

Max and I found each other in Wichita, Kansas while I was working for Cessna. I was fresh to the city and didn't know very many people, and my two-bedroom apartment felt empty with just myself and all my crap in it.


Someone told me about their vet's receptionist giving away kittens, so I decided to add a couple to my family. When I arrived at the receptionist's house, I was escorted to the back yard where several of the six week-old litter-mates were scampering around. Out of the swarming mass I was just able to grab a small black & white cat and his little white sister. No one had a carrier so I had to put them into a cardboard box and hope for the best on the drive home. Max nearly bullied himself out of the top when I pulled into my apartment parking lot. Little did I know that this was just the first indication of his stubborn individualism.

As we grew older together, it became pretty clear that Max was a completely self-actualized cat. He was exactly what he wanted to be and didn't really give a shit what you thought about it. Fortunately, what he was most of the time was a huge lover of people. He came up to any visitor of any stripe that ever came into my space (no matter where I lived over the years,) and he was an unapologetic love sponge. That was his reward to me for putting up with his bull-headed demeanor when he wanted to eat, demanded attention, or alpha-maled his way all over the place.

Sadly, Max's daring-do at the food dish finally caught up with him years later when he was diagnosed with feline diabetes and the beginning stages of kidney degeneration. However, a cat like Max would never let little health problems like that get in the way of his feeding trough time, so I was forced to intervene. He was put on a healthier diet and was given insulin on a daily basis despite my meager income. The lion's share of his complaints came not from the needle sticks, but from the lack of food on the ground 24/7.

Needless to say this made him a little grumpy over the last 3 or four years of his life. Besides the grumpiness, Max and I also had one more important thing in common: "Don't tell me what to do." He spent a lot of time punishing me for his dietary lifestyle change by knocking things off tables while insolently staring me right in the face, kicking litter out of the pan during poo-poo time, sharpening his claws on any piece of furniture with a suitable texture, and many more. Fortunately for him and his slender little kitty-neck, all of these things were offset by his wonderful loving personality.

Lately he had been losing weight, and I knew that what the vet had forecast many years ago was beginning to come true. This weight loss was not interfering with his healthy appetite so I wasn't very concerned about it at the time.

This past Friday night I came home after a particularly stressful and heat-filled day at work and was feeling very ill. I lay down on the floor to meditate and try to make myself feel better, so as he was wont to do, Max came up and plopped down at my left hand to receive some attention. While I concentrated on mentally washing away the grime of the day, I was aware of the amount of love Max was sending my way and it ultimately helped me to recover for the day.

Saturday morning came and Max was not himself. He refused to eat. Hmm. He would not touch his dry food, would not touch his wet food, would not touch canned tuna or chicken (!), and would only drink copious amounts of water. As the day went by he was getting progressively worse. His balance became terrible. He was obsessively pursuing water and urinating with difficulty. He lay flat on the floor next to the water bowl and wouldn't accept any attention. He appeared to be in pain and cried out like a kitten periodically. I knew that the dreaded time had finally come to make a decision.

One thing that Max always hated more than any dog that dared get within swatting distance, was riding in the car. He loathed it so much that any trip to the vet was a very long drive with him howling non-stop until we were back at home in his familiar surroundings. With this knowledge in mind, Ronda and I decided to spare him this final stressful indignity, and made arrangements for a mobile vet who specialized in home euthanasia to come see us today.

There was no doubt in our or the vet's minds that this once-proud feline was past the point of no return, and the only gift we were able to repay him with after twelve years of love was a peaceful end to his suffering. I am so very grateful that this was an option and that he did not have to spend his final moments in pain, driving in a car, and in the bright lights of a humane society exam room. Instead, he received the end of life he deserved;  he peacefully fell asleep in his familiar kitchen, on a soft towel and embraced by his loving owners.

Max's mortal remains now rest in a grave on my friend's property in Avra Valley, beneath a desert bush and marked with a round black granite wall stone. His life-spirit shone brightly and touched a lot of people in the twelve years I knew him. I will cherish his memory forever and I thank him with all my heart for the joy he brought myself and so many others.

Enjoy your flocks of slow-moving, boneless chickens in Feline Valhalla, my good friend.

Max - August, 2000 - August, 2012
"He wasn't always a good cat, but he was always HIS OWN cat." :D

In case you missed the link above, go here to view a gallery of Max-ness.