A tribute to Max: Goodbye, my little darling.

This morning I buried one of the most loyal companions I ever had. For eleven years of my life, my cat Max was one of the most dependable and loving beings in my life. I know how dramatic I sound, but my cat and I were pretty near inseparable for a large portion of my life.

When we first got Max, I remember asking my parents, "Can he by my cat?" My mother's reply was that the cat belonged to the whole family. I didn't care, so long as my older brother Matt didn't try to claim him. We were very competitive as children. Regardless of what anyone said, though, I knew that Max would be mine.

I was right. Within a few months, Max would follow me around curiously, rub up against my legs, meow at me desperately in an attempt to get some extra food, which more often than not worked exceedingly well for him. (Did I mention that Max was 19 pounds when we got him? He was always hungry. Always.)

Within a few years, Max spent most of his time at my side or in my lap. He used to take his paws and knead my arm or rub his head against my shoulder. Many a time he sat on the back of the armchair in which I sat and draped his arm to rest on the top of my head. I don't know when it happened, but somewhere along the line I became his mother. My parents used to laugh about how attached he was to me. He loved everyone, but Max and I had a special bond.

I spent a lot of time on my own as a child. I didn't mind it. It was all just time to act out my lively imagination. Nevertheless, being alone did wear on me, whether or not I realized it at the time. Sometimes I would just feel so lonely I wanted to cry. Sometimes I felt a little invisible. Sometimes I really would cry, just hoping for someone to hear me and come running to hold me. Max always came. I can't count the number of times I held on to him when I was upset.

Even as I grew older, when things got rough, I would find Max and hug him tightly, listening to his incredibly loud purrs. He was so affectionate, so constant. He was an absolute blessing.

Two years ago, Max got pretty sick. We couldn't figure out what was the matter. After an entire summer of visits to vets and specialists, he was diagnosed with a degenerative cancer-like disease. They said he had maybe three to six months to live. Like the incredible cat that he was, he held on for two whole years.

During the time that he was sick he was never very happy, so we would take him outside for walks. He had always been an indoor cat, but he used to sit at the front door and just stare into the outside world like a part of him was missing. The night he died, somehow the garage door managed to open. My dad swears he closed it, but sometimes the garage doors seem to have minds of their own. Max got out, and my parents looked everywhere for him. I had no idea that he was even gone when I came home on Friday evening to make pizza with my parents. My mom got a phone call that evening that Max's body had been found.

They took us to the ravine between our house and the neighbor's. Max was stretched out, his arms lying in front of him like a rampant lion. They say cats don't smile, but I'm pretty sure they can after seeing the peaceful, happy expression on my cat's face. He had finally gotten to be where he'd always wanted to be. It was a fitting end. Between his outstretched arms laid two sprigs of bright red flowers. It was strangely beautiful, despite how terribly my heart hurt.

So, here's to Max, the best cat that anyone could have ever asked for. I feel so blessed to have been the one who got him.

<3 Sarah