Thursday, August 23, 2012

Max is gone

Well, Max is gone now. My dad came in and went with me. Max had been suffering; I could see it. I read the biopsy report that came in and it sounded ugly. Very fast, very aggressive. He was probably fine just a month or so ago. It came on that fast. And where it was, operating really wasn't an option; he would have lost half his jaw, and there was no way of knowing that would have gotten it all.

So, we took him in at 2:45. They gave him a sedative that made him nauseous and he threw up a couple of times. After he got settled, they laid him down, and he and I stared into each other's eyes while they gave him the needle. I have no idea at exactly what moment he died, but I watched him relaxing almost from the moment the doctor started to inject him. My guess is he was gone before the shot was over.

I'll get his ashes back sometime in a week or two. Right now, I feel pretty even about it. I didn't lose composure during all this... I feel a little guilty about that, like I owed it to him... but the reality is there was nothing else to be done and giving in to desperation and wailing wouldn't have helped any of us. So, now I just have to get used to his not being here after ten years. No more climbing over me at night when he's sure I'm not really asleep. No more kneading me. No more of his little "oowww" of a meow. He was a wonderful cat, almost more like an old hound dog. Loved people. Laid back. Never cross. Never sick, till now. Just about perfect. I could have done with seven or eight more years of perfect, though.

I just had a quick, brave look at his adoption papers. "Morris", crossed out, replaced with "Max". I adopted him October 19, 2002. So right around now, ten years ago, is when I lost Jenny. Ten years between their deaths. They never knew each other. Bonnie knew them both. I wonder what Bonnie's thinking. I think Bonnie and Ally both knew something was wrong with Max. Ally's been picking on him, trying to chase him out of my bedroom when he tries... tried... to come in. I guess she won't have to do that anymore.

And now I just get on with things, I guess. Thank you, Max. You were a wonderful little pal, and no one will ever replace you. You were unique.

3 comments:

jim said...

Grieve well, my friend. Let whatever feelings come, just come.

barefoot hiker said...

Thank you, Jim. It is sound advice. I'm not sure if I'll be overcome at some point... I guess I spent time getting ready for it, like with Twinkle, and it was time to let go. At least he didn't die struggling for breath in a litter box like poor Twinkle. He was allowed to just drift away. I'll always be grateful if only for that mercy... it was strangely beautiful and comforting. I only wish human beings had the right.

Bridgewater said...

You can take comfort in knowing you gave Max a good life and helped him have a good death. "I only wish human beings had the right." A-men to that.

The fact that your dad was there to support you says a lot about both of you. Kudos to your parents for raising a compassionate son.