2020 has been a difficult year. I think we can all agree on that. There have been too many deaths to count in this year alone, but there’s someone in particular I would like to honor, someone that I lost, someone who died of old age. That someone is my cat, Max. Max was one of the best cats I’ve ever had and I miss him everyday.
Fourteen years ago, my family and I took in five six-week-old orphaned kittens: two girls, three boys. This litter had lost their mom and their owner was too busy to care for them. Animal Samaritans put out an ad and we volunteered to foster them. It was the summer and I was only a kid, so we had plenty of time to look after them. So, in June 2006, I suddenly found myself sharing my room with the five kittens, which was fine by me. When my mom and I went to pick up the kittens, my mom filled out forms and talked to the vet, while I sat and watched the kittens in the pet carrier. At one point, I asked the vet what was the gender of one of the cats. She reached inside, pulled out a black and fluffy cat, and held him up. A moment passed before she answered, “Boy.” Soon afterward, my mom and I left with our noisy passengers and returned home.
Once we were in my room, I opened the carrier and waited for the cats to exit. They were all huddled in a little ball at the back, too frightened to move. Finally, the black and fluffy male slowly and cautiously left his siblings and started exploring my room. My first thought was to name him “Louis,” after Lewis and Clark, but that name didn’t seem to fit. The other four watched their brave brother, anxious for his safety. When we humans naturally didn’t attack, three more kittens exited. Only the tiny runt of the litter stayed behind, but we managed to coax that one out in the end. On that first day, the five found a hole in my mattress that even I didn’t know about. They all snuggled into their little nest and we had to use food to tempt them out.
Throughout all this, my parents told me that we wouldn’t be able to keep any of them, that this was only temporary, but I didn’t believe them. I was confident that we would keep at least one of them and began naming them all. All I had to work with, however, was the knowledge that the black and fluffy cat in the litter was male. Two were black and tan and striped like little tigers, one was tan on top and white on the bottom, while the fourth was a mix of white, tan, and black. I knew two were female and two were male, but beyond that, I just had to guess. I decided that the two identical black and tan mini-tigers were male and, because I couldn’t tell them apart, I named them Fred and George. Eventually, one grew twice the size of the other. The bigger one became Fred, while the smaller one was George. The tan and white cat was full of energy and would wrestle with Fred whenever she could, so I named her Skitty. The mixed color cat was named Jenny, after a cat in one of my mom’s favorite books.
The only cat without a name was the black and fluffy leader. I agonized over his name, trying to find the right one. I considered “Whiskers” and “Paws,” but they just weren’t right. I thought of “Louis” again, but it was still a bad fit. Finally, I decided on “Max.” I don’t know how that name came to me, but the name just stuck and the bravest little cat in the whole litter, the little explorer, was Max from then on.
Going to sleep with the cats was interesting. They all had their own personal favorite spots on my bed. Jenny would knock things off my desk; Fred and Skitty would walk on me and put their paws on my mouth, trying to wake me up; Max would lay right next to my foot, so I couldn’t move it without bothering him; and George would just sleep in the corner, away from his siblings.
One time, I was feeding the kittens from a bottle. I would offer it to the swarm of mewing balls of fluff and one of them would latch on, drinking furiously. After a minute, I would yank it out of their mouth, much to their annoyance, and offer it to another cat, so they would all get a turn. Afterward, they all converged on me, meowing for more. I had to go to my mom and ask for help. She was making formula for them. She was their best friend when she arrived with the food.
As they grew that summer, their personalities began to shine forth. Fred and Skitty would constantly wrestle and I called them “gladiators.” Max and Jenny would climb little cat trees and get stuck halfway up, causing us to have to unstick their claws. George just sat quietly out of the way.
In early August, my family and I were due to go on a vacation, so we had to give them back to Animal Samaritans. I was devastated. I didn’t want to say good-bye. Luckily, my parents finally agreed that we could keep not one, but two kittens. They said it would be for the best to keep at least two together, so they would always have a friend. Immediately, I zeroed in on Max and Jenny as the two we would keep. We took them back and I tearfully said my farewells to Fred, George, and Skitty. When we returned to from the week-long vacation, I was overjoyed to learn that Animal Samaritans wanted us to keep all five a bit longer. They also told me that I got two of the cats’ genders wrong. Max, Fred, and Skitty were correct, but it turns out Jenny was a boy and George was a girl. I changed Jenny’s name to Oliver and George simply became Georgie.
We continued to look after the five and my parents decided it would be a good time to introduce them to our other pets. Dinah and Tuffy, the two cats, were less than thrilled to meet them. They seemed aghast that there were more cats in the house. Martha, our dog, was super excited. After this, my parents took me aside and said that Max and Fred had stayed calm and collected around Dinah, Tuffy, and Martha, but Oliver, Skitty, and Georgie seemed more nervous. In the end, we gave back Skitty, Georgie, and Oliver and kept Max and Fred.
Now with only two cats in the house, Max and Fred became inseparable. They did everything together, or almost. Max was always an outdoor cat, while Fred preferred the inside. We introduced them to the outside slowly. I would go out with them and monitor what they were doing. One day, Max and Fred were exploring and I looked up and saw a bird. I’m not entirely sure, but I think that bird was a hawk. Panicking, I immediately shepherded them back inside. They allowed themselves to be herded. I think they knew something was up, given my body language, but instinct directed them to follow me when there was danger around.
As the years went by, things changed around the house. We lost Tuffy (I think coyotes got him), Dinah died, then Martha died, and about a year later we got a new dog named Dottie. My mom’s uncle and his two cats, Rufus and Sweetie Pie, stayed with us for a bit, but he died as well. Throughout all this, Max and Fred have been a constant in my life. Fred is my little shadow, while Max is the independent little explorer, who sneers at me when I hug him.
A year ago, as 2020 began, my family consisted of me, my parents, my brother, Max, Fred, Rufus, Sweetie Pie, and Dottie. Sweetie Pie started off 2020 unwell. She was a little food thief, but she was very small. The last time I weighed her, she was only about five pounds. In early June, my brother and I went off to Yellowstone to work. A week after our departure, my mom called and said Sweetie Pie was worse. She wasn’t really moving. The next day, I got the news that Sweetie Pie had died. The only cats left in the house were Max, Fred, and Rufus.
Life went on. The season at Yellowstone was shortened to four months, due to COVID-19. In August, right as we hit the halfway point, my mom gave me more bad news. Max wasn’t feeling well. He wouldn’t come out from beneath his favorite table and he really wasn’t eating. I froze in horror, sure I had misunderstood. We had just lost Sweetie Pie two months ago, and now, this? I spent the whole day in numb disbelief. The next morning, I called and immediately asked how Max was doing. My mom was crying. Max had died either late the night before or early that morning. I cried too. I never got to say good-bye to Max, or pet him one final time, or even speak words of comfort. Max was suddenly… gone and I couldn’t do anything about it.
Max went through a lot in his life. He lost his mom, was separated from three of his siblings, and was even injured by Rufus when they fought for dominance. Max was even once locked outside by accident. A gate was left open and I closed it, not realizing Max was out front, until I saw his paws frantically scrabbling under the gate. No matter what you threw at Max, he was always a sweet and intelligent little cat, who loved me despite my hugs.
I will always love Max, even though he is now far away from here. And I still have Fred, who is almost as patient with my hugs as Max, and who loves to snuggle with me at night.
Rest in Peace, Max. (approximately May 6, 2006 – August 4, 2020)
