In Memory of Max the Cat It was January 1989. I traveled to a nearby town to visit a friend. The members of her family included two black cats. A new visitor, another black cat had stationed itself outside her front door. “I can’t possibly let him in,” she told me. “My allergist said he would refuse to treat me if I took in another cat.” I had planned on adopting a cat now that I had found a house for my son, Michael and I. But I had just moved in and there were still boxes everywhere. I had lots of unpacking and organizing to do. Besides, maybe this friendly little fellow belongs to someone. We agreed that she would ask around the neighborhood and put posters up. If no one claimed him in two weeks I would take him home with me. Two weeks later we took him in, named him Max, and grew to love him very quickly. He loved to be held. He loved to be hugged. And I loved to hold and hug him. I would cradle him in my arms like a baby, he would press himself tight against me, look up at me and slowly close and then open his eyes. This body language clearly said, “I love you so much.” I actually felt a healing energy at these times. An odd thought sometimes lightly brushed across my mind, “Is there some connection between this cat and my long deceased husband?” Max was a Maine Coon with all of the personality they are so famous for. He loved to talk to us. I can’t honestly say I always knew what he was saying, but I patiently listened anyway and he seemed to appreciate it. The years rolled by and he had been with us for about ten years and in good health until one Friday evening when I came home from work. It had been a tiring week. I opened my door to a terrible odor. I am very sensitive to odors and will drop everything and do whatever it takes to chase one down and eliminate it. I occasionally ask my closest friends to tell me honestly if they can detect any kitty box odors in my house. I entered the house and discovered that Max had an intestinal problem that had caused him to deposit bodily waste over much of my living room carpet, the kitchen floor, and the carpet in the Florida room. (Have you ever tried to get poop out of indoor/outdoor carpeting?) Max knew I was unhappy, to say the least, but once it was all cleaned up I reassured him I still loved him. I called the Veterinarian. He said, in short, to bring him in for some expensive and extensive testing. My son and I live on a limited budget so I decided to treat Max with regular doses of laxatone, and a better (more expensive) diet. I also watched to make sure he was drinking enough water. About six months went by with no sign of difficulty and then it happened again. I realized that in my busy life I had not been consistent with his doses of laxatone. I took him to the Veterinarian this time for a basic physical. The Vet did not find anything wrong. I felt torn between seeing this visit as the loss of $100 that I could have put to much better use, and feeling guilty over not being willing to spend lots more money on the expensive tests. Since the Vet said he appeared to be in good health, I decided to just take him home and carry on with our lives. I was determined to be more consistent with his doses of laxatone. After this second incident, he started using the litter box only half the time. He often used Michael’s carpeted walk-in closet. The odor attracted my other cat and they both began sharing this new “kitty box.” I ended up having to throw away some of his shoes and replace the carpet. Another several months went by. Again, no evidence of difficulty, until one day it happened again. This time I had gotten up late and did not leave my bedroom until I was ready to dash out the door on the verge of being late for a class that I had to teach. To my absolute horror, not only was there poop from one end of the living room to the far end of the dining room, but it was strewn across both couches and both upholstered chairs. It was in the door tracks of both sliding glass doors, and on all the throw pillows. Michael came out of his bedroom and said it looked like a cat had exploded. Neither of us could figure out how one cat could have pooped so much. I had to call work and tell them I could not come in until I had it cleaned up. Otherwise the two cats would have stepped in it and tracked it everywhere. Because of the mess and the loss of wages, I decided I could not do this again. Michael and I embarked on a project to secure our little fenced in yard for Max to live in. We created a place for him to go to get out of the rain and made it impossible for him to slip out from under the fence. He was never a climber, so jumping the fence, fortunately, was not a problem. Michael told me I was mean. He did not realize how much it was breaking my heart to see my feline friend out in the yard instead of sitting on my lap. Max adjusted, I adjusted, Michael adjusted, and life went on. It is now two years later. Last Thursday I got home from work at 11 pm and Michael said, “Mom you better go check on Max. His eye is runny and he doesn’t look right.” Sure enough, he did have something wrong with his eye. The next day I left work early to take him to see Dr. L. at the animal hospital. When I got to the house to pick him up, I discovered he was having difficulty breathing. I rushed to the hospital, where the doctor told me she did not know what was wrong with him. We decide to do a blood test for feline leukemia and feline AIDS, which came back negative. Next, at her suggestion, they did some X-rays. Still no diagnosis was made. She gave him a shot of steroids to decrease any inflammation that might be present, and an antibiotic in case of infection. She told me to bring him back in tomorrow. I left feeling some very mixed emotions. How could I be thinking of the cost? My furry friend was now a fifteen-year-old cat. The doctor had told me that if he needed surgery he would not live through it at his age. Was he really happy living in the yard? Could I imagine life without him? How difficult would this be for Michael? I put a warm blanket and a heating pad, the one we put outside for him on cold nights, in the bathroom along with food, water and a litter pan. We checked on him throughout the night reassuring him that everything was going to be all right. I brought Max back to the hospital on Saturday. He seemed to be breathing better, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Then Dr. L. found a lump on his neck. She decided a biopsy was in order. After the biopsy, he came back to the examining room with his neck shaved and a lump that had grown in size since the ten or so minutes before when I had felt it. The Vet sent us home to await the results. That night the lump grew. At 2:00 am it cut off his airway and he died. I wish I could say he went peacefully, but that was not the case. It was a very traumatic death for him and for us. I wondered why the Vet had sent him home knowing the lump had literally grown overnight. That night at 3:00 am we had a burial ceremony to say goodbye to our feline friend of eleven years. A friend and coworker recently told me about the website called RainbowBridge I visited it today and thought it was a wonderful way for those of us who have lost a pet to feel that they are not alone. It is a way to feel the support of others who have had the same experience and know how we feel. I wonder. Have others really had the same experience, the same thoughts that I have? Could they really support me if they knew how guilty I am? Could they understand the craziness that has been going on in my head? I have been unable to cry because I don’t feel that I deserve the release the tears would offer me. How could I have placed money as a priority over Max’s life? How could I have forgotten to give him laxatone when it might have prevented him from having to live in the yard? And what about the time I looked out the glass door into his yard and thought of him as an inconvenience? How could I have not picked him up and held him close to me the way we both loved to do because living outdoors had caused his fur to collect leaves and twigs. Well, the tears have started to flow. Maybe I deserve to let them flow and maybe I don’t. But one thing I do know. I miss you Max. I have written this in memory of you. I am glad that you are waiting for me at Rainbow Bridge. Love, Mommy