Honey passed away from renal failure at the age of 16 in September, 2002, leaving her 15 year old "stepsister" Lucky all alone.
About a month later I decided to adopt a kitten from a shelter to keep Lucky company. I picked out the cutest little 3 month old gray kitten, and named him "Smokey".
He was so loving and affectionate. Some cats don't like to be touched or handled very much by humans, but Smokey craved such attention! He had the cutest little face, and he always looked like he was smiling.
When he was 6 months old I arranged to have him neutered. The vet did some pre-op blood tests, which I thought of as just a routine procedure, but to my horror the vet said that he was extremely anemic, and she wouldn't operate until she did more tests and found out what was wrong.
She ran more blood tests that showed other problems (that I won't go into here). She told me that she suspected FIP.
I couldn't believe that anything was wrong, because he looked and acted fine. The vet told me to isolate him from Lucky, and keep watch over him for signs of illness. If he had normal blood tests in about a month, she would consider neutering him.
I took him back for more tests a month later, hoping for the best but fearing the worst. The tests came back about the same as before. He wasn't getting worse, but he wasn't getting better, either.
After about another month it hit hard and fast. He stopped eating and became very lethargic. I took him back to the vet, and she tapped his abdomen and found the telltale yellowish fluid that occurs with the "wet" form of FIP. There was no hope. I wasn't quite ready to say goodbye yet, so I made his final appointment for the next day.
I brought him home and held him and cried for most of the night. He was only 8 months old! I had only had him for about 5 months, but I had become very attached to him in that short time.
In the morning (which was my birthday, by the way) I began to say "goodbye". I told him that I loved him very much, and I hoped that I had made his short stay on Earth a happy one. I had often called him a "mama's boy", so on that day I told him that if the other kitties in heaven teased him about being a mama's boy, it would just mean that they were jealous.
I took him to the vet at the appointed time. A song by Elvis Costello was on the car radio, and one line says, "And I would rather be anywhere else but here today." That line kept going through my mind over and over as I sat with Smokey in the vet's waiting room.
I went into an exam room, and when the vet came in, I asked for 5 more minutes. My last memory of him is holding him in my lap, with his face pressed into the crook of my arm. I couldn't stop crying, and I left streaks of tears on his back and the top of his head.
Lucky hasn't been the same since Smokey went away (3 months ago today). She lost 2 companions in less than 6 months. She is very "clingy" now, and often goes outside of the litterbox. I'm thinking about getting another kitten, but I don't think I can go through this again. The first cat I owned lived 16 years, and the second cat (Lucky) is almost 16. Why did little Smokey have to die so young?
Sometimes I think that I see Smokey out of the corner of my eye, but when I turn to look, he's not there. I miss him terribly.
Thanks for listening.
About a month later I decided to adopt a kitten from a shelter to keep Lucky company. I picked out the cutest little 3 month old gray kitten, and named him "Smokey".
He was so loving and affectionate. Some cats don't like to be touched or handled very much by humans, but Smokey craved such attention! He had the cutest little face, and he always looked like he was smiling.
When he was 6 months old I arranged to have him neutered. The vet did some pre-op blood tests, which I thought of as just a routine procedure, but to my horror the vet said that he was extremely anemic, and she wouldn't operate until she did more tests and found out what was wrong.
She ran more blood tests that showed other problems (that I won't go into here). She told me that she suspected FIP.
I couldn't believe that anything was wrong, because he looked and acted fine. The vet told me to isolate him from Lucky, and keep watch over him for signs of illness. If he had normal blood tests in about a month, she would consider neutering him.
I took him back for more tests a month later, hoping for the best but fearing the worst. The tests came back about the same as before. He wasn't getting worse, but he wasn't getting better, either.
After about another month it hit hard and fast. He stopped eating and became very lethargic. I took him back to the vet, and she tapped his abdomen and found the telltale yellowish fluid that occurs with the "wet" form of FIP. There was no hope. I wasn't quite ready to say goodbye yet, so I made his final appointment for the next day.
I brought him home and held him and cried for most of the night. He was only 8 months old! I had only had him for about 5 months, but I had become very attached to him in that short time.
In the morning (which was my birthday, by the way) I began to say "goodbye". I told him that I loved him very much, and I hoped that I had made his short stay on Earth a happy one. I had often called him a "mama's boy", so on that day I told him that if the other kitties in heaven teased him about being a mama's boy, it would just mean that they were jealous.
I took him to the vet at the appointed time. A song by Elvis Costello was on the car radio, and one line says, "And I would rather be anywhere else but here today." That line kept going through my mind over and over as I sat with Smokey in the vet's waiting room.
I went into an exam room, and when the vet came in, I asked for 5 more minutes. My last memory of him is holding him in my lap, with his face pressed into the crook of my arm. I couldn't stop crying, and I left streaks of tears on his back and the top of his head.
Lucky hasn't been the same since Smokey went away (3 months ago today). She lost 2 companions in less than 6 months. She is very "clingy" now, and often goes outside of the litterbox. I'm thinking about getting another kitten, but I don't think I can go through this again. The first cat I owned lived 16 years, and the second cat (Lucky) is almost 16. Why did little Smokey have to die so young?
Sometimes I think that I see Smokey out of the corner of my eye, but when I turn to look, he's not there. I miss him terribly.
Thanks for listening.
