I've just lost a friend.
You've seen him on these pages. He's one of the most loving and friendly beings I've ever known.
Sometimes he would climb on me while I was sleeping. I didn't mind: When I woke to him, I felt the sun rising. He looked like a sunrise.
I am talking about Max, the orange cat who's lived with me for ten and a half years.
He came into my life on 9 April 2007. My friend Millie rescued him from a street near us. She told me that when she saw him, she walked right up to him. He did the same for me the first time I saw him.
What that meant, of course, was that he is anything but a feral cat. "He must have had a home before," Millie observed. When I saw him, I couldn't not give him one.
The vet said he was between five and seven years old when I brought him home. So, that means he lived about sixteen or seventeen years--a pretty good lifespan for a cat.
Even if he'd been in my life for only a day, he could have given me a lifetime of happiness: That is what he carried with him, and couldn't help but to give. He greeted everyone who came to my apartment--including Marlee, the day I brought her home--like an old friend and playmate.
He died late Sunday night, after I'd come back from a nice ride, had a sumptuous dinner and talked to my mother. I wrote yesterday's post about the ride I took Sunday, the day before, because it was just too difficult to talk about Max.
He won't be waiting for me at the end of my next ride. Not physically, anyway. I believe, though, that I'll see him at the end of many rides for a long time to come.
Note: In a sad irony, I lost another cat--the first one I had who was named Charlie--on 16 October in 2005.
You've seen him on these pages. He's one of the most loving and friendly beings I've ever known.
Sometimes he would climb on me while I was sleeping. I didn't mind: When I woke to him, I felt the sun rising. He looked like a sunrise.
I am talking about Max, the orange cat who's lived with me for ten and a half years.
He came into my life on 9 April 2007. My friend Millie rescued him from a street near us. She told me that when she saw him, she walked right up to him. He did the same for me the first time I saw him.
What that meant, of course, was that he is anything but a feral cat. "He must have had a home before," Millie observed. When I saw him, I couldn't not give him one.
The vet said he was between five and seven years old when I brought him home. So, that means he lived about sixteen or seventeen years--a pretty good lifespan for a cat.
Even if he'd been in my life for only a day, he could have given me a lifetime of happiness: That is what he carried with him, and couldn't help but to give. He greeted everyone who came to my apartment--including Marlee, the day I brought her home--like an old friend and playmate.
He died late Sunday night, after I'd come back from a nice ride, had a sumptuous dinner and talked to my mother. I wrote yesterday's post about the ride I took Sunday, the day before, because it was just too difficult to talk about Max.
He won't be waiting for me at the end of my next ride. Not physically, anyway. I believe, though, that I'll see him at the end of many rides for a long time to come.
Note: In a sad irony, I lost another cat--the first one I had who was named Charlie--on 16 October in 2005.
I feel your pain. Our cat Mimi is 18. She's gone diabetic and also has the kitty version of alzheimers. She can't find her litter box anymore and she's wasting away to nothing. She's been my little buddy 15 years (she was about three when we got her). My wife and I know what has to be done but we've been dragging our feet. I'm out on the Katy trail all week but when I get home I think we're going to have to put her down because she's really starting to suffer.
ReplyDeletePhillip--Thank you for your condolences. I am sorry about Mimi. At least your story makes me thankful that Max was sentinent until he curled himself up in the litter box just hours before he died.
ReplyDeletePutting down an animal is difficult. All you can do is console yourself that you're sparing her additional suffering.
I am so sorry for your loss. Our little Lydia cat passed away some months ago now, and I still think I see her in the corners, but now transparent.
ReplyDeleteLeo
Leo--Thank you. I remember when you told me about Lydia.
ReplyDeleteThe worst thing about a loss is seeing the empty space once occupied by someone--whether feline, human or otherwise--you loved.
So sorry about Max. Pets are indeed special companions that bring so much joy to our lives, and their unconditional love lives on even after they are gone.
ReplyDeleteChris--Yes, Max loved unconditionally. And he always will, in my heart.
ReplyDelete