Max came about 15 years ago. He was a young unaltered male who had wandered off following the smell of a she cat and gotten lost. He sat in the backyard and observed us for a few days before hunger forced his hand. We fed him, and he decided that he had found his home. He was part Siamese and talked to us with a loud meow whenever he had an opinion about anything. I once had to reassure a vet that he was not in pain, he just made comments about everything.

For the last five years he has been sick. We have been feeding him special food, giving him lactated ringers, pills and oral drops. I have holes in my fingers and a black spot on my fingernail, still, from trying to pill him every morning.

He stopped eating entirely the other day and I had trouble trying to get him to swallow when I used an eye dropper. He has not been steady on his feet for six months and he has his own special stairs to get onto the couch. He was unable to walk these last few days and I had to hold him up in the box so he could go. He always let me know when it was time with his loud meow, and he had very few accidents for a cat so sick.

Max was an excellent cat. We had him for about 15 years and he always told us what he thought of the food, the weather, the lack of heat, or the other cats. He slept on the bed with us until he became too weak to get up the stairs.

Yesterday he slipped into a coma and died some time in the night. He is resting out in a nice spot along the south wall next to other excellent cats. If there is a heaven, I believe Max and my other cats will be waiting for me and Max will meow loudly asking what took me so long.