Maxwell
Almost 13 years ago, we picked up Maxwell, a purebred Abyssinian male cat from a breeder in Racine, Wisconsin. He was the youngest and smallest in a litter of seven, and we had to wait an extra week until he got to two pounds. Evelyn sat in the backseat of the car with Maxwell. He won both of our hearts when be vomited.
When we arrived home, I built a ramp up to the bed, so he had a soft place to hang out. Maxwell turned out to be a sickly kitten; we nursed hime through worms and an eye infection.
My first memory of my interactions with baby Max was when I was doing my “business.” Finishing up, I noticed that a small creature was at floor level, tucked safely away in my underwear. Eventually, Maxwell grew to the point where he no longer fit in my boxers.
But from the start, he loved the space between my legs. If I took a quick catnap, Maxwell crawled between my legs, nestling his head on my inner thigh.
As he grew, he became more demanding. He would gently bite my arm at 5:00 AM, asking for his breakfast. As long as I was up, I ate mine, too. We watched CNN and CNBC while we ate. When I finished my yoghurt, I let him lick the small container. Then, he would walk across the counter, and then along the rim of the sink. Now on the other side of the sink, he would wait for me to fill a small bowl with fresh water. He knew when I turned on the adjacent microwave that he had to jump down—I didn’t want to expose his little body to any radiation leaks.
Then around 6:00 AM, I headed back to bed for 90 minutes. Maxwell never crawled under the covers at night, but in the morning, he scurried right in, seeking warmth next to my body.
During the winter months (and when we went on vacation), I would build him a hut on the bed, using pillows and a throw-blanket.
Maxwell didn’t like when I edited photographs. He would sit behind me, gently pushing me further and further off my chair. At times, he would sit on my desk blocking the screen, gently pawing my face.
When Evelyn and I left the apartment, we always knew he would be waiting at the front door on our return. When we started streaming TV shows during Covid, he sat on my chest or between my legs, something he has continued to do.
When I left the apartment, he would often follow me out the door into the hallway. Out of concern that I might accidentally abandon him in the hall, I often found myself double-backing up the internal stairwell to our floor to check that I hadn’t locked him out of the apartment. Maybe I have OCD, but I didn’t want anything bad to happen to my friend. No need for signs posted about a missing cat.
Before bed, Maxwell would sit on the floor next to the bed waiting for me to finish my routine—arrange the pillows, turn on a podcast, put the speaker under my pillow, and pull the covers up. The minute the covers were in place, he would jump up, straddling my shoulder, waiting for his nightly massage and head scratch. When I woke up in the middle of the night, he was always tucked between my legs.
Eighteen days ago, he sat on the bedroom floor, but didn’t jump up. I knew something was wrong, so the next morning we were off to the vet. Turns out his urinary tract was blocked with crystals. The vet told us that if we hadn’t brought him in, he would have died quickly. They cleared up the problem, but he was transferred to a veterinary hospital for two days so that the catheter would drain properly. The hospital recommended an ultrasound, which disclosed gallstones, including one lodged in his bile duct. The hospital told us that the urethra blockage would either recur immediately, or Maxwell would be in the clear. But the hospital also recommended that we address the stones by removing his gallbladder.
After experience with three other cats, we said “No” surgery. My standard for determining whether to keep an animal alive or not is summed up by one question: Are you keeping the animal alive because you can’t let go, or are you keeping the animal alive for the animal’s sake? In the past, surgery has been a huge mistake. The animal was upset, disoriented, and the problem was not solved.
The vets told us that we could treat Maxwell’s gallstones with medicine, so that is what we tried. When he came home, we had to give him eight pills or squirts of medicine a day, which he fiercely resisted. Because his numbers improved, the vets no longer thought surgery was advisable. Over the last 12 days, at times Maxwell has been his old self—up on the couch and sleeping on top of me. Unfortunately, most of the time, Maxwell no longer purred; he felt cold to the touch; and he was withdrawn and disoriented. A checkup last week gave us hope. But over the last four or five days, he was not able to hold his food down, vomiting within two or three minutes of eating. He was in distress.
This morning, we took him back in to the vet. I knew before we left how the visit would end, but we had to give Maxwell one last chance. The vet explained that while we could try to treat Max’s nausea, his fundamental prognosis was a bad one.
So we made the gut-wrenching decision to euthanize Maxwell. We spent a few moments with him before the vet came into the room. She then administered propranolol to place him in a deep sleep. I stroked his head, while telling him what a good friend he had been. After a minute, she administered the drug that would stop his heart. Evelyn stayed for the propranolol, but didn’t want to be in the room for the final injection, which is perfectly fine. I stayed until the vet pronounced Maxwell dead, hoping he knew I was his friend until the end. I already miss him. I don’t know how I will get to sleep tonight without my pal.
While I like to think that Maxwell and I had a strong bond—like no other—as I have walked around over the last two weeks, I’ve seen plenty of people walking their dogs or playing with them in a park. I would think to myself, each person I see has a similar bond with their pet. And I realized that someday the two will have a last moment together, with the person equally distraught about the parting. Appreciate your pets while you have them.
You might be expecting a lot of photographs of Maxwell. After all, I photograph everything. For some reason, I never photographed Maxwell. Maybe I thought he would never leave me. Knowing what was in store for both of us today, I decided to make a final image of Maxell (the cover image).
Evelyn, on the other hand, was always photographing Maxwell and sketching him and me together. Here are a few of her images. Maxwell was a beautiful animal and soul.
During the Covid Lockdown
Keeping an Eye on Me
Taking Up Too Much Space on the Chair
Evelyn Taking a Selfie with Maxwell
Watching TV Together
Looking at Photographs
Sleeping
Are You Taking My Picture?
Ready for His Closeup
Copyright 2025, Jack B. Siegel and Evelyn Brody, All Rights Reserved. Do Not Alter, Copy, Display, Distribute, Download, Duplicate, or Reproduce Without the Prior Written Consent of the Copyright Holder.
