Max Wortman

Max was found in the summer of 2010 alongside the road in a rural town. He was estimated to be around 6 weeks old, covered in fleas and ticks and was emaciated. I bottle fed him for weeks until he gained the strength to eat solid food, and he repaid me with a lifetime of unconditional love. Max went everywhere I did. I hid him in all my apartments; at the time, too broke to pay the extra pet fee. But I refused to rehome him; I knew there was something special about him.

I quite literally owe Max my life. There was a point in my life where I was at the lowest of lows. I felt I had nothing to live for. But each time I looked into those bright green eyes, the same eyes that had so much love and faith in me, I couldn’t help but agree to keep fighting. The thought of him living out his days in a cage at a shelter killed me, so I promised him I’d hang on a bit longer; for him.

The number of tears I’ve shed into his fur through the years is countless. But I can tell you he never once seemed bothered by the hours of cleaning it would take him to get his fur back to pristine and soft condition.

In December 2023, while petting him on the couch one night, I felt a lump. I scheduled an appointment, where after biopsies and cytology reports were back, my worst fears were confirmed. Max had inoperable, incurable vaccine-assisted osteo/fibrosarcoma. The area of attachment was so close to his pelvis that surgery was not an option. His age (14) meant he wasn’t a candidate for chemo/radiation either.

Over the coming weeks, Max was spoiled beyond measure. Whatever food he wanted, new beds, houses, scratching posts; you name it, he got it. He began daily pain meds, which seemed to help, but slowly I could see my best friend fading away. The weekend before his euthanasia I could tell he was no longer himself. His movements were painful, he was acting erratically and seemed somewhat confused. As much as I hated to admit it, I knew it was time. He cuddled with me once more, staring into my eyes, and I just felt as though he gave me permission to let him go.

His euthanasia was at home, in his favorite sunny spot. He went to sleep in my arms, just like he did so many times before. Except this time, he wasn’t coming back. A piece of me left with him that day, and I know that it’s a piece I’ll never get back.

And to my Max: I want you to know just how missed you are. I look for you at the top of the stairs every day when I get home. I miss hearing the comfort of your bell, knowing you were getting up to see what I was doing. I miss your headbutts. Your purring. Your screams to be fed. I miss you. There are some days I feel like I must be going nuts because I’ll swear I caught a glimpse of you out of the corner of my eye. I know you’re still here. I don’t want you to worry about me. I’ll be okay. Thanks to you, I know that hard times don’t last forever. Thank you for being there for me, and for always encouraging me to keep going. Thank you for giving me 14 years with you. 14 years of unconditional love.

I’ll always love you. You’ll forever be my boy.

Max

06/2010- 02/19/2024