Maxey did not need a tail like a Disney squirrel.
Maxey did not want a fearsome retrovirus.
But somewhere between wants and needs, there is a soft place to land.
Although she was only with us a short time, Maxey will be in our hearts as long as we live.
She was the gentlest FeLV+ cat, with the most magical tail we have ever seen. She was not particularly concerned with either of those matters.
If I were Maxey, I would stop every few minutes, turn around, and look at my tail. What is such glamorous fluff doing on a short-haired cat? It looks like a feather boa on a grey sweatshirt. It is plumage meant for a pageant, too fancy for the feral colony. If I were Maxey, I’m not sure I would ever trust that thing.
If I were Maxey, I would definitely stop every few minutes, look around, and question all the smiling faces. What are all these people doing, doting on a cat with that diagnosis, as though nothing was wrong? Feline leukemia virus (FeLV) is known for closing doors and bolting gates. FeLV can shave the last plucky tendril of hope. If I were Maxey, I’m not sure I would ever trust my own safety.
That’s why I’m not qualified to be a cat.
But Maxey was a queen among cats. Life assigned her excess in many areas. Maxey had no intention to tease apart the blessings and the curses.

She was granted a tail that could dry the whole world’s tears, and a disease that can cause much weeping. She knew how to survive as a stray with no name, and she learned how to dream on soft blankets while people argued over who got to kiss her next.
The one thing Maxey did not know how to do was doubt.
When good people coaxed her off the street, Maxey did not wonder if she was worth saving. When the bad dot bled dark and definitive on the FeLV test, Maxey did not know her life hung in the balance.
And when a dream door opened, in precisely the size of one grey cat with one grand tail, Maxey did not look to see if there was someone behind her and say, “you must be talking to someone else.”
Maxey did not spend much time looking behind her at all. It didn’t matter how she contracted that diagnosis. It’s irrelevant that “cats like Maxey” are misunderstood, tailed by the rumor that FeLV cats are not worth saving.
Maxey certainly didn’t spend time swooning over her own plumage. Only the great cat-weaver knows how Maxey got her tail, a splendid inside joke between genetics and grace.
What matters is always now. Shy but dignified, Maxey looked us in the eyes and took our love at face value. She believed, and all the kindness came true.
We only wish we had more time to treasure her.
When Maxey came to Tabby’s Place, she had already survived pneumonia. But her immune system never recovered, and she developed stubborn anemia. We feared the virus had begun to attack her bone marrow.
Hospice foster angel Drew was not afraid.
Drew’s love is stronger than the combined powers of grief and fear. She spoke the words she has whispered over countless other cats in their final chapter: “I’ll take her home.”
And so, the cat with the storybook tail found her happy ending in a place sorrow cannot reach. Maxey’s final weeks were a safe in a cloud of complete devotion. When, at last, love meant “goodbye,” she passed from heaven to heaven, out of our sight but never out of our hearts.
For all her splendor and sorrow, Maxey never hid her eyes with her tail. She lived for the promise hidden within every knot of pain. FeLV may have taken much, but it also gave her Tabby’s Place. All the tangles and thickets of her life led here. The hungry years and the angry red dot, the improbable tail and the steely courage, all took her to Tabby’s Place.
She believed in love, and it came true.
I believe we will see her again, where every tail stands tall, and the only thing that’s infectious is affection.
Until we meet again, darling Maxey, we adore you.
Beautiful, beautiful. You point out the blessing – Tabby’s Place filled dear Maxey’s last days with happiness and love and the knowledge that she mattered. She was worthy to be Maxey of Tabby’s Place. Sleep in peaceful glory, dear Maxey.