When I was a child, I spent plenty of time rescuing animals I found around the house. Most were small creatures in the twilight of their lives. I would hope to nurse these furry friends back to full health so they could survive in the wild. Unfortunately, the majority of the time, the best I could do was make them comfortable for their last moments.
Maxi was different, she was a pitch-black kitten that I would’ve completely missed in the shadows if it wasn’t for her pain-ridden pleas. Every meow was a cry for help. When I found her, I could tell she went through some trauma, cuts in multiple places, a little apprehensive as I approached her. I knew what I had to do when she finally let me touch her.
I picked her up and rushed her home. I cleaned her up and gave her food and water. She was real tired the first couple of days I had her but after some rest and nourishment, she started running around the house, batting at windows when she saw possible prey. Every day she got a little bit stronger, a little bit faster, a little bit more energetic, until she didn’t.
One day she just laid on my bed, whether I was there in it myself or not. I knee something was wrong, it was like all my efforts were for not and the only lasting legacy of my efforts were that she was comfortable with me. I took her to the vet and hoped and prayed that they could help her.
They found an infection in one of her legs. If she had any chance at living a semblance of a life, they would have to amputate it before it spread to the rest of her body. It was either that or put her to sleep so she was no longer in any pain. She was what has given me hope when taking care of the damaged or letting more healed people take care of me. I agreed to the surgery and Maxi came home with the energy I was so happy to see return but the sacrifice she made would be a permanent reminder.
A permanent reminder that her life would never be the same.
A permanent reminder that despite a full recovery, life would be harder now than ever.
I loved that she could be alive and everything but everyday became a reminder of a simple truth. Every little hobble, every little stumble, every wince she made, every squeal of pain, all of it was the reminder that some things don’t change despite how much strength you gain, how fast you become, or how energetic you are. Every part of her life was more difficult and despite the fact that every extra second of life was a precious gift for her, one truth remained constant and we both knew the unspoken truth we had to hide from the other…
Four is better than three.