The runt of the litter became larger than life

Maxine was the runt of a litter of stray cats in my neighborhood. My grandchildren named all the felines to keep up with them. A black and white tuxedo cat, she barely weighed a pound when we decided to adopt her.

 She limped and could not keep up with her siblings, and had a difficult time walking to the food bowl we placed in the backyard for the unhoused felines. Somehow, despite her tiny size, she began making her way around the house to the front porch, and my oldest son admired her tenacity. 

He began giving her small bowls of milk and decided we should adopt her and spare her the life of a stray. My oldest grandson nicknamed her "Little One" because she was so small. 

She would sit between his legs as he was on the bed, reading. When we first took her to the vet, she weighed only two pounds and was diagnosed with Feline Leukemia, for which there is no cure. 

Following her blood work, the vet could not offer her the Feliv vaccine because the disease was already in her bloodstream. A few months later, the vet was reluctant to spay her because it could spread the disease. She meowed night and day and became so annoying, they did the operation anyway.

Maxine had an odor that was a combination of feces and dry cat food that had been wet and left sitting.  After a few baths given by my grandchildren and veterinary services, the smell subsided, and our kitty began gaining weight and thriving. Her life expectancy was six months to two years. 

Online, I read that kittens with Feliv might live as long as three years, and older cats could live longer than kittens. The employees at the vet were amazed at her progress. Both of my sons, my daughter, and her three children loved and spoiled Maxine. 

She would come into the bathroom and sit at my feet as if she were guarding me and rub her face on my toes if I had on no shoes. She was a happy kitten and loved sleeping on the foot of my bed. She also would sit in my lap while I was working on my laptop. 

About a month ago, there was an orange ring around the pupil of one eye. I wondered if this was a sign that Feliv was progressing. She was given antibiotics, and a later exam showed she was infection-free, but the rings remained. 

Maxine showed no signs of illness until this past Saturday. She was walking upstairs at around 5:15 am and at 6:00 that evening I realized that I had not seen her all day. It was normal for her to disappear for four or five hours during the day, during which she would sleep on random beds or on the windowsill upstairs. 

This was different because more than twelve hours had elapsed. I searched every inch of the house and even checked to see if she had gotten outside. My youngest son thought she may have been stuck somewhere, but I wondered if she were hiding on purpose.

I had read that cats will isolate when death is n\but did not desire her to die in a location where we could not reach her. Sunday morning came, and no Maxine, so I prayed the Lord would send his angels to guide my kitty back to us. The idea of her dying alone was unbearable.

Around 2:00 pm, I walked into the kitchen, and Maxine was just sitting near the sink. She refused food and water, and a few hours later, she disappeared again. This time, I found her sitting against the wall in the basement. I picked her up and told her she was not going to be alone through her ordeal.

When she fell asleep on the living room carpet, I placed a large egg crate over her. I put her in her pet carrier at bedtime and kept it near my bed. All day Monday, she lay around, still not eating or drinking but quiet. She did not seem in pain or distressed. 

Tuesday morning, I took her to the vet, and within twenty minutes of my arriving home, they called with the news. Maxine's body was destroying her red blood cells, and with Feliv, there was nothing they could do.

I still don't understand why there was no warning. She was fine Friday night, and Saturday, she began hiding. How can she be gone within three days of being missing? Perhaps she gave up, and the illness progressed.

We showered her with love, kept up with her vet appointments, and still Feline Leukemia took her way too soon. On nights when indigestion was bothering me adn I slept on the couch, Maxine would sleep at my feet or my head.

My oldest son, my two youngest grandchildren, and I were at the vet when she passed away. We each got to hold her and tell her we loved her, and the injections were given while she was in my son's arms. We all cried for about ten minutes.

The first was to relax her, and the second ended her life. It was over in a matter of moments. She died looking like she was happy and peaceful, and I believe she was. She never moaned or cried during the past weeks. If she was in any pain, she did not show it.

My "Kitty Max" brightened my life after the death of my husband. She was a good companion to my other indoor cat, Boots, who sniffed her and ran to the basement on Monday afternoon, so he knew death was coming. I suspected it when Maxine began smelling bad again.

Last week, when the grandchildren came over, Maxine slept in their beds with them. She spent extra time with my son when he was around. I think she was saying goodbye. I'm sorry she did not sit in my lap on Saturday, Sunday, or Monday. Perhaps this was her way of distancing herself from me because the end was near.

She often licked me and my oldest son, which I read was a sign we were in her cat community. We will never regret the money spent on pet insurance and the extra funds for antibiotics and other meds along this journey. Mxine was a sweet kitty who enriched our lives, and we will be forever grateful she chose us.

Her presence assisted in giving us a focus to keep us from grieving so hard for my husband. She often sat by me when I prayed as if she were praying too.

She would fall asleep near me when I played gospel worship music. Her life was brief, she was tiny, but to my family, she will always be larger than life. I'm so glad I had the chance to tell her that I loved her often. My grandkids did the same. It makes this grief a little more bearable.