Maximillian Thomas or MAX the cat

We adopted him February 18th, 1994. That means he was just shy of his 15th birthday. He was quite the trooper. When he was just a kitten he used to bat at the buttons on the couch, and when you held him in your arms his little paws void of claws would knead at your arms as he purred in satisfaction. I read once that the kneading was representative of a kitten's attachment to its mother. It would knead at its mother's teats to get more milk, and transfers the kneading response to anything else pleasurable in its life when it wants more. They also knead in order to transfer their scent onto you, or whatever they are kneading. As Bill, Maureen, and I held MAX (my mom and I decided awhile ago that MAX's name was always to be written in capitals) the first day we met him at the vet's office, he kneaded on my arm. He wanted more, and he wanted us to be his.

As he grew up MAX became the neighborhood bouncer. He was lean and muscular with a swagger to scare off any kitten. And he loved to eat. I had a friend once tell me about a large cat that had come into his sun room and eaten his cats' food. He described the cat, and sure enough it was MAX. We often heard tales of how MAX had bullied a cat off his own porch just to sit a particular patch of sun. He was also a lover. We had one neighbor come over one day with over 15 pictures of MAX laying in the grass soaking up the sun. He used to help my mom garden by chasing clumps of weeds into the raspberry bushes where he was known to eat a raspberry or two when they were especially ripe. Naturally, I put him through a fair amount of torture by giving him regular baths, dressing him up in my doll clothes, and even tossing him in the hot tub once to see if he knew how to swim (he did). MAX always preferred to pee outside, to the extent that he would even venture out in the snow, delicately shaking his paws after every step.

As the years went on and MAX's muscles started to sag, and he became a homebody, yet his shoulders still held their broad posture. His swagger turned to more of an awkward, bow legged hobble. We started giving him cortisone shots for his arthritis. My favorite part was when Dr. White would say, "He'll be doing back flips in no time." This past October when I was home he jumped up on Evan's chest while he was napping. MAX never did this. He preferred to sit next to Bill, laying lengthwise against his legs. Bill always tried to get him to lay on his chest to no avail. All on his own, MAX jumped up on Evan and laid down. He placed one paw above Evan's wrist, and one below as if to grasp his arm. I think he was happy with who I had brought home.

Today was MAX's last day. The cortisone only helps for so long until quality of life declines. When I left for Germany in high school MAX became Bill's buddy. He knew I was his mom, but Bill was his best bud. I know Bill did everything he could to make MAX's last hours special, and I can only imagine that he was kneading his paws as he fell asleep for the last time.