- Joined
- Jan 15, 2017
- Messages
- 12
- Purraise
- 22
Hello everyone, Jeff here. I wish this wasn't how I was introducing myself but our Moony of just 2 years of age passed two days ago early Saturday morning on January 14th, 2017. Tears fill my eyes as I write this.
My wife and I are completely heartbroken and shocked by this sudden loss. He was always always quite small, and had some breathing problems at a young age (which got treated a year ago, mostly successfully... at least on the surface). However.. this passing... it happened over a span of 4 days or so. He seemed completely well just a week ago.
While there is no completely confirmed diagnoses (a few tests were not completed due to his condition), both our normal vet and the ER seem to agree that he had congenital heart disease (perhaps HCM - hypertrophic cardiomyopathy), which caused fluid to fill his lungs, and his blood flow to go insufficient (he went hypothermic - they had to warm him to get his temperature even readable above 90).
He was hiding it from us so well. To us, it seemed like maybe he had a lodged hairball in his tract, or he got into something (he had a penchant of doing this). He would just nap a lot. A time or two in the past we had seem him vomit, get lethargic and low appetite for a day or two (we would sometimes make a call to see if he should be brought in), but he would recover quickly. This time, it was different. He got more and more lethargic, started hiding in odd places, was vomiting fluid on an empty stomach, and wouldn't eat (though he was still drinking water). This is when we urgently took him to the vet. Even then, I didn't think for a second that he wouldn't be coming home with us that night - or at worst we would pick him up when they closed a few hours later..
To our surprise, his digestive tract checked out as normal. It was his cardiovascular and respiratory systems that weren't normal. We were in complete shock when the vet told us his condition is extremely guarded and life threatening. How did this happen so quickly?
When the vet returned after testing is when she suspected HCM (though further testing was needed), and that he was in critical condition. Temp not reading, extremely labored breathing, weakness and discomfort. He went into intensive care there, and she told us if it is indeed HCM, at this age presenting under this condition, the prognosis is not good, and she would be leaning towards putting him down if it were her pet. Complete and utter shock to hear this. I asked about the long term outlook if he makes it through the night, and even with treatment she thought absolutely overly optimistic best case scenario is he would have 6-12 months to live and would never have a normal quality of life again.
A few hours later we had to transfer him to the overnight ER (we heated our car to VERY warm because of his condition, and he still lost temp on the 10 minute trip). We still wanted a second opinion, and we felt at his young age we owed him one night to fight and see if they could make a diagnoses and treat him. After midnight we received a call that they weren't seeing signs of heart disease, but knew his lungs were filled with fluid and said it may be pneumonia. However, a bit past 5 am, and trying to nap unsuccessfully (waking in a heart broken panic every 10 minutes) we received the call he was in cardiac arrest and was not responding to CPR. We had to let him go in utter disbelief.
Soon after we got ourselves together enough to drive there, we learned they believed (like out regular vet) that he has congenital heart disease that created this condition, though a few tests went uncompleted because he was too ill and fussy. We then spent what must have been an hour with his body, mourning and saying our goodbyes to our most beloved little boy cat. I'm not one to freely cry, but I've been nothing if not a fountain for these past 2-3 days. I love him with every fiber of my being, and I feel intense compassion for him, guilt for not preventing it, sorrow for our loss, but also gratitude for the amazing two years we had with him and happiness that we know he had a wonderful life.
I've been struggling badly with the guilt - that I should have been more sensitive to his condition, brought him in sooner, encouraged the vet to do more testing when she suspected a possible murmur a year ago (he had asthma, but the cause went undiagnosed and he responded well to a steroid shot). He was so young, and I feel so responsible for this - even if all evidence says he was born this way and was meant to pass after a short and meaningful life. But it's not like I was ignoring him. When he started getting more lethargic, I was bringing him water, trying to encourage him to eat, and keeping an eye on him. I did what I knew how to do... but I still feel like I let my little guy down.
We're grieving this loss so intensely... I've been through a lot the last several years, but this loss has a sense of responsibility attached to it that makes it dig even deeper. He means so much to us, and I know he's running around in kitty heaven chasing birds and making those weird clicking sounds at them. I'm glad he's not suffering and is no longer bound by his sadly defective Earthly body.
His adoption came at a most critical time in our lives - my wife and I had recently been through personal trauma that nearly broke us apart when we took him in as a 3 month old kitten, and half of last year we were heading toward divorce. He was the brightest shining light in our lives, the glue that kept us together, and the angel that watched over us to help us mend. We happily reconciled 5-6 months ago (we've been together over 11 years), and Moony got to spend his final holidays with his full, loving family before his time was up. He even fell in instant love with the squeaky mouse toy we got him for Xmas - it was a long pole and string toy - he was immediately hyper and dragging it around the house squeaking in his mouth like euphoria as the pole dragged hilariously behind him. You could hear him across the house dragging it on the vinyl as the mouse squeaked periodically. He would eventually leave it in our bed as a present. I miss him so much.
That gray blanket was his favorite, and he cuddled my wife for hours every single night like clockwork. He was curious about our Betta fish (as you see by the gentle paw), and like all cats... the more boxes, the better.
Here's a story I'd like to share that my wife wrote of Moony's life:
- Jeff
My wife and I are completely heartbroken and shocked by this sudden loss. He was always always quite small, and had some breathing problems at a young age (which got treated a year ago, mostly successfully... at least on the surface). However.. this passing... it happened over a span of 4 days or so. He seemed completely well just a week ago.
While there is no completely confirmed diagnoses (a few tests were not completed due to his condition), both our normal vet and the ER seem to agree that he had congenital heart disease (perhaps HCM - hypertrophic cardiomyopathy), which caused fluid to fill his lungs, and his blood flow to go insufficient (he went hypothermic - they had to warm him to get his temperature even readable above 90).
He was hiding it from us so well. To us, it seemed like maybe he had a lodged hairball in his tract, or he got into something (he had a penchant of doing this). He would just nap a lot. A time or two in the past we had seem him vomit, get lethargic and low appetite for a day or two (we would sometimes make a call to see if he should be brought in), but he would recover quickly. This time, it was different. He got more and more lethargic, started hiding in odd places, was vomiting fluid on an empty stomach, and wouldn't eat (though he was still drinking water). This is when we urgently took him to the vet. Even then, I didn't think for a second that he wouldn't be coming home with us that night - or at worst we would pick him up when they closed a few hours later..
To our surprise, his digestive tract checked out as normal. It was his cardiovascular and respiratory systems that weren't normal. We were in complete shock when the vet told us his condition is extremely guarded and life threatening. How did this happen so quickly?
When the vet returned after testing is when she suspected HCM (though further testing was needed), and that he was in critical condition. Temp not reading, extremely labored breathing, weakness and discomfort. He went into intensive care there, and she told us if it is indeed HCM, at this age presenting under this condition, the prognosis is not good, and she would be leaning towards putting him down if it were her pet. Complete and utter shock to hear this. I asked about the long term outlook if he makes it through the night, and even with treatment she thought absolutely overly optimistic best case scenario is he would have 6-12 months to live and would never have a normal quality of life again.
A few hours later we had to transfer him to the overnight ER (we heated our car to VERY warm because of his condition, and he still lost temp on the 10 minute trip). We still wanted a second opinion, and we felt at his young age we owed him one night to fight and see if they could make a diagnoses and treat him. After midnight we received a call that they weren't seeing signs of heart disease, but knew his lungs were filled with fluid and said it may be pneumonia. However, a bit past 5 am, and trying to nap unsuccessfully (waking in a heart broken panic every 10 minutes) we received the call he was in cardiac arrest and was not responding to CPR. We had to let him go in utter disbelief.
Soon after we got ourselves together enough to drive there, we learned they believed (like out regular vet) that he has congenital heart disease that created this condition, though a few tests went uncompleted because he was too ill and fussy. We then spent what must have been an hour with his body, mourning and saying our goodbyes to our most beloved little boy cat. I'm not one to freely cry, but I've been nothing if not a fountain for these past 2-3 days. I love him with every fiber of my being, and I feel intense compassion for him, guilt for not preventing it, sorrow for our loss, but also gratitude for the amazing two years we had with him and happiness that we know he had a wonderful life.
I've been struggling badly with the guilt - that I should have been more sensitive to his condition, brought him in sooner, encouraged the vet to do more testing when she suspected a possible murmur a year ago (he had asthma, but the cause went undiagnosed and he responded well to a steroid shot). He was so young, and I feel so responsible for this - even if all evidence says he was born this way and was meant to pass after a short and meaningful life. But it's not like I was ignoring him. When he started getting more lethargic, I was bringing him water, trying to encourage him to eat, and keeping an eye on him. I did what I knew how to do... but I still feel like I let my little guy down.
We're grieving this loss so intensely... I've been through a lot the last several years, but this loss has a sense of responsibility attached to it that makes it dig even deeper. He means so much to us, and I know he's running around in kitty heaven chasing birds and making those weird clicking sounds at them. I'm glad he's not suffering and is no longer bound by his sadly defective Earthly body.
His adoption came at a most critical time in our lives - my wife and I had recently been through personal trauma that nearly broke us apart when we took him in as a 3 month old kitten, and half of last year we were heading toward divorce. He was the brightest shining light in our lives, the glue that kept us together, and the angel that watched over us to help us mend. We happily reconciled 5-6 months ago (we've been together over 11 years), and Moony got to spend his final holidays with his full, loving family before his time was up. He even fell in instant love with the squeaky mouse toy we got him for Xmas - it was a long pole and string toy - he was immediately hyper and dragging it around the house squeaking in his mouth like euphoria as the pole dragged hilariously behind him. You could hear him across the house dragging it on the vinyl as the mouse squeaked periodically. He would eventually leave it in our bed as a present. I miss him so much.
That gray blanket was his favorite, and he cuddled my wife for hours every single night like clockwork. He was curious about our Betta fish (as you see by the gentle paw), and like all cats... the more boxes, the better.
Here's a story I'd like to share that my wife wrote of Moony's life:
If you read all of this, thank you. I know so many of you know this terrible feeling of losing a furry family member. Pets really do take a part of our hearts with them forever.This has been such a long few days. The pain seems to blur, time doesn't seem to make sense. I wanted to share some of my memories of Moony.
He cuddled relentlessly. We cuddled every single night for hours. I would often wake up to him snuggled against me. In the morning he would climb on me, no matter what position I was in.
He had boundless playing energy. He loved his toys. He would fetch (I have video evidence). He would drag his toys around the house, and eventually leave them in our bed.
He absolutely adored Allie, our tuxedo cat. From the moment he laid eyes on her he fell in love. She learned to tolerate him, and eventually learned to see him as a companion. Even though he made her crazy, they would seek each other for comfort. I feel very sad that she no longer has him.
He was so handsome. His white chin, fluffy tail. He had an over bite that was seriously the cutest. One of my favorite features were his eyes, and his unique markings that gave him constant puppy eyes.
He loved being near us. He was always involved. For a cat, he was very brave and extroverted. He would even take up fights with the vacuum and broom. When company visited he was front and center.
He loved being on his cat tower. He was risky up there though, and such a spunk ball. My nippy angel.
He did not do so well with children, but couldn't seem to keep his curiosity at bay. Eventually he made a friend in Charlotte, and seemed to accept little humans.
He loved to yap and pace around the house. He adored his grandma.
I remember seeing him in the shelter. He hissed at the woman caring for his cage. He was hissy in general as a kitten. He was so scared and tiny. I instantly knew he was meant to be our baby. He picked Jeff by stubbornly cuddling with him. Later in life, he became a mama's boy. He loved us fiercely.
I cannot believe he only lived two years. I know he was our angel. He came at such a critical time for Jeff and me, and he ensured that we mended things. Moony lived every moment of his short life presently. I will miss him beyond words. I love you, Moon Man.
- Jeff