Maxwell by By Catherine H.

I lost my beloved Maxwell James this past August to an aggressive nasal lymphoma after 10 years of companionship. He came into my life at the age of 5, melded quickly into the existing feline family and, after the matriarch, Cindie Marie, passed over, moved into the position of Top Kitty. He was my best friend. He was loyal and wise. He was kind to and patient with the other cats in the household who, in turn, gravitated toward him like furry groupies. He greeted me at the door every day, was content to lie in my lap for hours on end, and slept on my chest every night. He was sunshine embodied.

Maxwell was always about quality over quantity so although the diagnosis of lymphoma was a shock and broke my heart, it was fairly easy to make the decision not to pursue any treatment that couldn't be handled at home. Travel caused Max acute anxiety and the stress of multiple car rides each week would have negated any good such outside treatment might have provided. I know in my heart it was the right decision for him and I am grateful to Max's veterinarian, Dr. Frank Bousaid, for supporting that decision. During those last two months, we spent as much time as possible each day enjoying each other's company. I took vacation time and we spent hours sitting outside, observing the world; wandering the garden following interesting smells; taking leashed walks up and down the street, to the endless amusement of our neighbors. These are things we’d always done but now they took high precedence. These were precious, precious hours.

Sadly, it was exactly two months from the date of diagnosis to the date of Maxwell's passing. Two months for me was no time at all; I felt like I never had a chance to breathe. And I know at the very end, when the medication just stopped working, Maxwell was more than ready to be free. On his last day, the changes that occurred in his body between the time I left for work and the time I got home were dramatic and undeniable. What I had been told at the beginning came true and it’s something I’d repeat over and over to anyone going through the same thing with a loved one because you don’t understand it until you see it happen: when the treatment stops working, it will just…stop. There will be no tapering off. It will stop—abruptly—and the cancer will take over. I would have given anything in the world to keep my brave Maxwell from suffering as I know he did at the end and the last gift I was able to give him was his freedom. I will be forever indebted to his vet for coming to our home so that Maxwell could leave from a familiar, safe, and love-filled place. It is my fervent hope that the work the ACF is doing will help to diminish or eliminate the suffering our loved ones, both animal and human, experience due to the ravages of cancer.

So as not to speak solely from sadness, it is important for me to acknowledge that although so much of Maxwell’s last chapter fills me with sorrow and grief, two months later I now find myself smiling at his memory more and more frequently. He really was the light of my life, the light of the house, up to the very end. He was a happy, happy laid-back boy. And he taught me a valuable lesson: live in the present. Live for the day. Give each day everything you've got. And, it is what it is. He was never afraid of being sick. He accepted it and moved forward. His energy filled our home when he was physically present and his spirit energy continues to keep us company and influences my life as I take tentative steps forward on this new path.

Any animal that comes into our lives is a gift; their time with us is a treasure to be cherished. And some of these animals are magical. Maxwell was/is magical. I miss him more than I can express in words, each and every day, but I know his spirit travels with me.

A card I received after Maxwell passed says, "What a beautiful difference one single life made." Indeed, what a beautiful difference Maxwell's life made...to me, to his co-kitties, to my friends and family who knew him. I love you, Maxwell James.