Often frustrated with some of his shortcomings, I would refer to my care for him as a stewardship. Meaning, no matter how much I disliked his pee accidents, the occasional nip at the kids, or the claw marks in the door frames (pre declawing), I would never consider dropping him off at the pound. I knew, we had taken him in and accepted that responsibility and therein much love grows for taking care of the needs of an imperfect creature. Chad and I often joked how nice it would be to have him gone...no worries while on vacation, no shutting doors (for fear of him peeing), and no random finds of a stinky accident. However, now that he is gone, I find emptiness in the special places he loved. The spot at the top of the stairs, our bath mat, under the girls bed, under Josh's blanket, on top of Chad's car. I find myself looking for him again and again in these "Max spots" or expecting to hear him meow to be let in or out of room. I will miss how he curled up next to me after the kids went to bed or when I napped.
So what happened? About two weeks ago, I suddenly noticed he had gotten dramatically skinny. I asked Chad if he had noticed. Then there was an increase in accidents. I knew we needed to take him in. Somehow, life speeds off and it gets put in the back of your mind. After coming home to another accident on Tuesday and realizing that he was not eating (only drinking) I knew we had to get him in. The kids and I took him in that afternoon. It wasn't good...not good at all. The vet ran a blood test and found that his liver was failing. He was in very bad shape. The prognosis was not good. A shot of fluids and antibiotics was our only hope.He needed to start eating and show signs of an improvement within a couple days. That night, I found that Andrew had lined up his food to spell his name...in hopes that Max would eat. When we woke up the next morning my heart just sunk when I saw him. He hadn't left the family room from the night before, he had peed where he was laying and hadn't touched his food or water. I desperately wanted him to be okay, but there was no doubt in my mind that we couldn't let him suffer. The kids were all very aware of his state and were all hoping and praying for him to eat and recover. When it was clear that this would not be the case, we all gathered around the family room for one of the most difficult conversations I've ever had. We were all sobbing. It was torture looking at Max lying there with his blue eyes knowing what we had to do. After a family prayer, the kids were left to process this. They drew pictures of Max, Sarah prayed that he would eat (her faith is incredible and it killed me to tell her this prayer wouldn't be answered), Andrew and Sarah wrote a song and Josh wrote "Max" on his arm. However dramatic this all may sound, I will add it was a very traumatic day with many emotions flowing.Originally, I told Chad there was no way I could take him back to the vet. As the time came, I knew I couldn't let Chad do this alone. As I gathered him from beneath the girl's bed, my heart was breaking knowing what we were about to do.The kids said their final goodbyes and we headed to the vet. Surprisingly, Chad was the one that had to leave and go to the car. Don't get me wrong, we were both crying, but I was the one that had to sign the consent to euthanize form. Now, I know there are much more difficult things in life, but this was seriously heart wrenching. As with many tough experiences, this ended up being a really special experience for us as a family. To experience love and loss together. To see the kids reach out and hug each other in comfort. To pray together and affirm the Plan of Salvation to our children. One friend described the love/hate relationship of a pet to that of having a teenager: Sometimes you can't stand living with them but you always want them there. Sure my house might be a little more clean and free from pet worries....but, it's a little more empty, too. We love you, Max and will miss having you here.
