This is the kind of post that you never want to write.
One that cuts deeply, and yet brings soft memories that brush at the heart.
It's about Maxwell, our gentle, sweet boy.
Our beloved Maxie left us on August 24th.
It was ten days earlier, during a nightly belly rub session that the lump was felt. The next morning, his vet examined him and discovered the lump was a kidney, displaced and pushed outward by an intruder — a mass the size of a baseball, growing in Maxie's abdomen. We immediately set up an appointment with an internal medicine specialist who took aspirates and sent the cells off to pathology.
The news was devastating. An aggressive, neuroendocrine neoplasia.
The specialist was amazing. She called daily, while moving heaven and earth to get us into the onologist within a few days. She worked a miracle. We only had to make it through the weekend and the oncologist would see us, with a surgeon lined up to excise the mass if necessary.
We tried everything. After not eating on Friday, Maxie spent 8 hours at the ER on Saturday, being given supportive care in an oxygen tent. We went home that night, and for the first time, Maxie couldn't manage to sleep in the bed with us. He was just too uncomfortable. Throughout the night and on Sunday, he deteriorated before our very eyes, going from an alert boy to one ravaged by pain to the point he was barely aware of his surroundings.
We took him to a different ER, called ahead to let them know that we feared the worst.
They were amazing. The most caring, compassionate people. They stepped up for us at the most heartbreaking time. They promised not to separate us for more than 5 minutes and only to take a quick x-ray and ultrasound.
The doctor compared these new x-rays to the ones taken just ten days earlier. Where before, the mass was a knobby, white ball, with his organs shown in darker areas all around it, now his abdomen looked like a blizzard—solid white. It surrounded his heart, and we couldn't even see his stomach.
Very gently and kindly, the doctor shared the news. News we needed to see and hear to know for certain that the kindest thing to do was to let him go.
They stood beside us. And Maxwell never left our side. He stayed in his Sleepypod, surrounded by family and familiar scents. It was the most reverent, respectful, caring and compassionate passing I have ever experienced.
And it gutted me.
My sweet Maxwell... You are now pain free.
Maxie was our Sentinel, always keeping watch at the top of the stairs.
The handsomest, most soulful Siamese with the quick, intelligent eyes...
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Who loved the kitchen sink (the water faucet, really)...
and disliked the snow.
Occasionally skeptical...
But never pushy... except when Allie wanted a turn on his lounger.
He was a cat who thought deep thoughts.
And he had the best, goofiest expressions.
So goofy, in fact, that they inspired a series of fictional (or maybe not-so-fictional) "PeeMails."
He loved to hang out on ladders (insert himself into any home improvement project, really).
And he could sit for hours beside you, the silence filled with his deep, rumbling purr.
His favorite spot in recent years was under the kitchen table, napping with the sun warming his fur.
As I walk into my office, I hear your questioning hum, your request for a belly rub.
For you, those times were bliss.
We will see you again, sweet boy. Until that time, we hold you close in our hearts.
