The Noble Prize for a Life Well-Lived

In honor of a beautiful and affectionate cat.

RIP, beloved Max

April 19, 2003 – April 24, 2020

So much acrimony and confusion and death...


In the true meaning of the word, Max lived a noble life.

“But he was just a cat,” you say. Yes, that's true. But he was loving and kind and selfless until the very end. He was a wonderful companion, and a great source of comfort to me (especially after my partner died in October 2018).

Max and Sandra
Feb. 2, 2017

He was cherished by previous caretakers and human friends, who showered him with gifts.

Christmas Eve, 2017

Christmas Day, 2018

But now he's gone and life continues, filled with acrimony and confusion and death.


The Very Real Threat of Trump’s Deepfake by David Frum

While reading this article in The Atlantic, I was immediately struck by how a cat could hold human values and respect human life to a greater extent than the President of the United States. Sounds absurd, doesn't it? But not really. Not any more. Here's David Frum:

April 26, 2020, was an especially manic day in the presidency of Donald Trump.  ...  something was gnawing at him. Perhaps his business troubles were weighing on him.  ...  Or perhaps Trump was still seething at the widespread ridicule of his press conference of April 23, when he suggested using disinfectant “by injection.” Or perhaps something else had shifted his mood from its usual setting of seething aggrievement to frothing fury.

Whatever the cause, between early afternoon and near 9 o’clock eastern time, Trump fired off a sequence of crazy-even-for-him tweets and retweets. He demanded that reporters be stripped of the “Noble prizes” they had supposedly been awarded for their reporting on Trump scandals, apparently conflating them with the Pulitzers—and then pretended that his misspelling of Nobel had been intentional.  ...  He retweeted an increasingly wild and weird range of supporters’ Twitter accounts.

Trump shows no compassion for the suffering around him, no sympathy for the families devastated by the loss of their loved ones, and only hollow praise for the health care workers, the bus drivers, the home delivery drivers, the grocery store clerks, and the sanitation workers who put their lives on the line every day.

Eternal optimists say “we're all in this together” while sitting at home on Zoom meetings, placing endless orders on Amazon, and fretting about their sourdough starter. I'm only marginally better, but I realize I'm privileged. {I've tried to help financially — contributing to homeless organizations, a fund for unemployed hourly workers, bookstores, museums, etc.}

And obviously I'm way more pessimistic.

How does this rant honor my cat??


Case History

Max was diagnosed with intestinal lymphoma in August 2019 at the age of 16. He also had a murky ailment that made it difficult for him to eat (“his tongue is inflamed” or later, “he has a mass at the base of his tongue”), but the true cause was never confirmed. He was prescribed oral chemotherapy pills three times a week and an oral steroid (prednisolone syrup) twice daily. I declined the chemo pills, opting for quality of life for both of us. Max's oral steroid became unworkable after four doses.

This was not fair, especially after my wife suffered through Stage 4 cancer for a year.

Another vet started bimonthly / monthly injections of Depo-Medrol (methyl prednisolone) to reduce the inflammation in his mouth, and as a partial treatment for his lymphoma. It worked wonders (for a while). He ran up and down stairs, played with his toys, and jumped over the red chair!

He started getting worse in January. His weight was down to 9.5 lbs (4.3 kg), a 2 lb loss in two months. He was prescribed buprenorphine as needed for pain and transdermal mirtazapine as an appetite stimulant. My quest for palatable foods became more and more challenging. I spent hours walking the aisles of pet superstores.

ADDENDUM (April 28, 2020): How could I forget his stint on an all-chicken diet (KFC — no skin of course — or grocery store roasted chicken), which he enjoyed for a few weeks until he could no longer eat chicken...

His last regular appointment was March 9. And then the shelter-in-place orders were issued.


Pet Care During the COVID-19 Pandemic

Max's condition was getting worse. Depo-Medrol was less and less effective, and he needed injections every two weeks. The veterinary practice enacted stringent measures to protect its essential workers. In-person appointments were reserved for animals showing signs of extreme pain and suffering. Virtual Vet was used for consults and for recommending treatment plans. We had an appointment on March 27. Max was prescribed his usual meds. I picked them up curbside (calling upon arrival) and paid via contactless transaction. I watched a helpful YouTube video and then administered his subcutaneous injection of Depo-Medrol.

By April 16, I had grown desperate. The poor fellow was having a severe bout of diarrhea that lasted for days. I tried scheduling a Virtual Vet appointment and called for a refill of buprenorphine. Finally I got through and picked up more meds the next day. These included oral metronidazole, a hideously bitter and distressing medication that made his mouth foam.

He improved slightly. I was up for hours in the middle of the night, trying to coax him to eat. Some "meaty morsels" and "flaked' varieties were palatable for their gravy. I got out the food processor and whirled them into a very soft format, which he mostly rejected. “But you were just licking the gravy off these meaty morsels!” I told him. Finally I came up with a winning concoction. But this was only a palliative interlude before the inevitable.

Then I realized I'd established a Palliative Care Unit for my cat.

On April 23, I could no longer care for him myself. I brought him to the ER for severe dehydration. He had blood work and an "incidental" ultrasound, neither of which he'd had since his initial diagnosis. The results were devastating. Anemia due to suspected blood loss from his GI tract. Elevated white blood cell count (no surprise). Emerging diabetes mellitus (e.g., glucose in his urine), a known side-effect of steroid treatment. He weighed only 3.8 kg (8.4 lbs).

Most concerning was “free fluid in the abdomen and what looks like masses, possibly lymph nodes and fluid distended bowel loops.”  /  “If he does not improve in the next few days to a week, humane euthanasia should be considered given what we know.”

I picked him up and brought him home. He hated car rides much more than actual visits to the vet or treatments of any sort. Veterinary staff all loved him. The report from his ER doc even said, “Max is a very good cat.”

He was withdrawn for several hours. Then he got over it and sat on my lap in the red chair, purring. Here he is, as beautiful as ever.

The change in Max from that day to the next was astounding. He couldn't hold his head up any more. He tried to drink some water but couldn't manage to do it. I don't think any additional intervention would have improved his condition. I didn't want to wait any longer and had to act quickly.

I was fortunate to find a caring and compassionate vet who made house calls, and wasn't ridiculously overboard on COVID-19 restrictions. Some said they wouldn't enter the main living area — it had to take place outside or in the garage or in their mobile van. But Max was in a comfortable and familiar environment, at least. And then he didn't have to suffer any longer.


Max was such a sweet, loving, affectionate cat. He sought me out until the end, until his very last day when he was too weak to do so.

This is another story of love, and of loss. How we care for the most helpless among us is an enduring sign of our humanity.



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