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It was only 18 years, and they went fast....
Now I know why Max was giving me the look whenever I said he was 19. He was only 18. But I am famous for forgetting actual age, and usually try to duck the subject.
This afternoon Max the beloved Burmese finally gave up his fight, a valiant one. He rolled over from managed renal failure to a cascade, all in a day or so. He was so ready to go that he went from the sedative to the overdose in scarcely a step. I could feel the energy fade in his body before Dr. Angela even stepped away from us. W came down to say good bye, but left before we got to this stage. I felt I had to see it through. I almost lost Max the first month I had him, having to feed him baby food to get him through an illness. When you save something's life, it belongs to you forever.
He has always been there for me. He kept me alive after my divorce, he kept me going through the worst of my illness, and he was always there to tell me that he didn't care if I only had half a brain -- he loved me anyway. Cats are not quite as non-judgmental as dogs -- they will laugh at you. But they still hop into bed with you afterward to cuddle. Even if you provoke giggles, you are still their human.
Max was the best writing supervisor ever. Not once did he complain about the time he couldn't sit on me because he lived in a house under siege. He was just delighted to get me back, later. I trust I will be able to write without him...or perhaps he will come back to help. Brae did. Max was born the day Brae died, so I did wonder, even as I purposely chose a boy, so I would not be trying to replace Brae. He was a champion paper snake wrangler, a magpie for gold, and a pro at testing gravity. And he and Merlyn hunted like lions, in a small pack. No gecko was safe, no anole would survive the terrible Burmese.
He's earned some rest. I've lived with ghosts before. It's all right.
He came close to leaving twice in the past 14 months, but hung in there, because I wasn't ready for him to leave. In many ways I will never be ready for him to leave. But I was not going to put him through any more life extension treatment. He had a horror of needles and every sub-q watering was ghastly for him. To start doing that daily would not be fair.
I've lived with several breeds of cats, as well as American random bred. Burmese are different. They really are champagne cats. Right now Merlyn must carry on alone. Perhaps I will get him a kitten, if my lease doesn't prohibit it -- One place I checked out did say no cats under one year, and I won't go through Merlyn fighting with an adult cat again.
Here's a pic of Max from 2007, up in the icon.
He was a smart, loving, beautiful animal, and I was blessed with his companionship for many years. I hope that at least once, you, too, know an animal with that depth of affection.
Eighteen years, one month, seventeen days. Time flies when you're having fun.
This afternoon Max the beloved Burmese finally gave up his fight, a valiant one. He rolled over from managed renal failure to a cascade, all in a day or so. He was so ready to go that he went from the sedative to the overdose in scarcely a step. I could feel the energy fade in his body before Dr. Angela even stepped away from us. W came down to say good bye, but left before we got to this stage. I felt I had to see it through. I almost lost Max the first month I had him, having to feed him baby food to get him through an illness. When you save something's life, it belongs to you forever.
He has always been there for me. He kept me alive after my divorce, he kept me going through the worst of my illness, and he was always there to tell me that he didn't care if I only had half a brain -- he loved me anyway. Cats are not quite as non-judgmental as dogs -- they will laugh at you. But they still hop into bed with you afterward to cuddle. Even if you provoke giggles, you are still their human.
Max was the best writing supervisor ever. Not once did he complain about the time he couldn't sit on me because he lived in a house under siege. He was just delighted to get me back, later. I trust I will be able to write without him...or perhaps he will come back to help. Brae did. Max was born the day Brae died, so I did wonder, even as I purposely chose a boy, so I would not be trying to replace Brae. He was a champion paper snake wrangler, a magpie for gold, and a pro at testing gravity. And he and Merlyn hunted like lions, in a small pack. No gecko was safe, no anole would survive the terrible Burmese.
He's earned some rest. I've lived with ghosts before. It's all right.
He came close to leaving twice in the past 14 months, but hung in there, because I wasn't ready for him to leave. In many ways I will never be ready for him to leave. But I was not going to put him through any more life extension treatment. He had a horror of needles and every sub-q watering was ghastly for him. To start doing that daily would not be fair.
I've lived with several breeds of cats, as well as American random bred. Burmese are different. They really are champagne cats. Right now Merlyn must carry on alone. Perhaps I will get him a kitten, if my lease doesn't prohibit it -- One place I checked out did say no cats under one year, and I won't go through Merlyn fighting with an adult cat again.
Here's a pic of Max from 2007, up in the icon.
He was a smart, loving, beautiful animal, and I was blessed with his companionship for many years. I hope that at least once, you, too, know an animal with that depth of affection.
Eighteen years, one month, seventeen days. Time flies when you're having fun.
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oh hon!
My LoPan (right hand in icon, buff beau of a lad) picked me when he crawled into my hand at 3 days of age. He's only a little over half as old as Max, but indeed, with the laughing at and the cuddling after.
*huge hugs*
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Vicki
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Come by sometime for Baby Therapy.
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