The Good Stuff

But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead . . . 

 - From 1 Corinthians 15

We put down our cat today. But he was not any cat. He was the first new pet in my kids lives (they are now 20 and 23). When they were each born, we already had three dogs. But when the girls were about 4 and 7, a friend of mine asked if we would take a sickly cat that they had nursed back to health after a difficult post-birth experience. This cat that started out by beating the odds, continued to do so. 

His name is Max. Notice I said "is"? This is because my understanding of eternity is that it is nothing different than never-ending now, or present. Max survived injuries, blindness, deafness, had wandered off for days at a time when he was younger, dealt with dogs that didn't like cats. He dodged fast-moving cars. And during the past two to three years had at least two episodes that we thought for sure were his dying moments. 

We've had Max since about 2002. He lived to be about seventeen to eighteen years. For five years we have felt like he was adding lives to his already long span of years. 

He was gentle, happy, low-maintenance, and was a great friend to our Yorkshire Terrier, who also is getting on in years and will soon be facing the same.

My daughters loved Max. They are at college and came home two nights ago to see him one last time. 

Max has been a virtual "shut-in" for about five years. He got too slow to be trusted outside (we have coyotes and hawks in the area).  About six months ago he developed a large bulge in his stomach that we thought was cancer, but ended up being diabetes. Last fall, he began urinating excessively, and his litter box would quickly form "mud," over and over again, that would get into his back paws and begin caking upon and between them. His grooming became laborious, as he would track little splotches of litter mud wherever he went. 

We took him to the vet two months ago, and they diagnosed diabetes. They said he would have weeks to live but that treatment would give him a few more months or years. They drained his stomach of the fluid, which caused him to rally for about a month. He was doing so well that we opted not to do the treatment. But then two weeks ago he declined rapidly, as his back legs degraded to the point of being basically paralyzed. We decided it was time, some time within the next few days. 

This morning, after the appointment with the vet had been made, I took Max downstairs with me. He used to love going downstairs, as a hideaway. He had favorite spots down there to rest. But beginning about three months ago he preferred, more and more, to stay near people. So his litter box was brought upstairs. He restricted himself to a 400 square foot area near his food, the litterbox, and people. But occasionally, he would act like he wanted to go downstairs. I put his food bowl near it's formally normal spot on the steps . . . and he went right for it, although in the end he did not eat anything. 

I set Max down on the basement floor. He walked towards the door that goes outside (at which I used to let him out, and he would come back in). But he paused for just a moment, and then when I turned around, he returned back upstairs. 

I took Max outside next, carrying him around the periphery of our one-acre lot. He seemed to enjoy the breeze, the smells, the sounds (what he could hear). I set him down on the ground, to see if he would like to walk around. At first, he did. He began walking towards the high grass on the edge, slowly, carefully. But as with the basement . . . he turned towards the house, and began making his way toward it. His back legs were simply not up to the task, so I picked him up and finished our walk. 

He became restless and obviously wanted to go inside. I set him down one last time near the back door . . . which he turned toward. I opened it and he went in. I sat down, and Max came around and began licking my shoe. He rubbed his head against it.

I had to go into town for a meeting. When I left Max was in his favorite spot on the floor; the same spot where I found him when I returned. His purring seemed weaker than the day before, which was weaker than the day before that. There was just enough time to get him in the car, for the ride to the vet.

His tail had been bushy, like when he is in an alert stance. The vet said that it was due to discomfort. 

All the signs confirmed that he had to be put out of his misery . . . his purring and expressions of warmth notwithstanding. 

As we were in the vet's examination room, waiting for him to come in, a familiar emotion came over me. I believe it gets stronger, the older I get. It was anger. 

I hate death. The Bible calls death an "enemy." I hated it for every death of every pet I've ever had. I hated it when I had high school friends dying in car accidents, or from cancer. I hated the death of my beloved cousin Larry Johnson. I hated when my grandparents died, each of them in turn. I hated the death of my cousins Judy and Teresa. I hated the deaths of my great aunts and uncles, and of my aunts and uncles. 

I despised the death of my Dad. 

And I put it to you: my attitude is the healthy one. 

When I realize that Christ died, too . . . and that this was the way for us all to defeat death, I smile. I become happy and contented. Somebody would have to come along, that did not deserve to die, and to say "I will take their punishment. Lay their guilt on Me, so that they may live."

This new blog series is "The Good Stuff." Because I get tired of all the rants and trash talk about Christians and their "hypocrisy." You know . . . taunts by people that don't believe in Jesus anyway, pointing out how "unchristian" all these Christians are. 

The Good Stuff begins with eternal life. The person that says they don't care about living forever, is lying. 

We begin with even the hint of a possibility that you could live forever, and be sure of it. We start there. This is the only important point of Christians. Not that they want to be judgmental. Not that they "hate" others. Not that they want to control others. No . . . all of those suppositions are way off the mark.

The sole, single, definitive, and essential point that drives Christians and everything they do and say, is that they want to live forever. They want to see their kids, and parents, and grandparents, and brothers and sisters, and friends, and cousins, and aunts and uncles, and famous people in history, and on, and on . . . . . They want to see them again, over and over again. They love life, and they want it never to end. 

And that's a really good motivation to do or believe anything. It's just a starting point. 

Don't knock it. 

RIP, Max. I'll even see you again.