My husband and I are pet people. We both had dogs growing up, and we had been waiting to get a pet of our own. After a lot of thought, we decided to get a cat. We were so eager that we got Loki, a four month old Ragdoll kitten, a month before we moved into a better apartment. As first time cat parents, everything Loki did was incredibly exciting to us. On the other hand, every time he sneezed or coughed, we were instantly concerned. Every moment with the little guy was beautiful, and he brought so much more love into our lives.
He turned six months old during Christmas, and we decided to get him neutered so that we could be there for him during his recovery. That’s when everything started going downhill. He started sleeping too much and slowly reduced his eating—too slowly to raise concern at first. We thought he had gas or a stomach bug. Since we were planning a trip to India, we decided to get him checked before we left.
I took him to the doctor, explained his symptoms, and the doctor looked at me seriously and told me that Loki had something called FIP, a fatal viral disease that was slowly killing him. He said that by the time cats are diagnosed and taken to the vet, they usually have between 3 to 28 days left. They did some blood work and later mentioned that recently, there had been some medication that could help with the disease, but since Loki was already showing many symptoms, they didn’t know if he would respond to the treatment. They sent us home and asked me to keep Loki comfortable.
It was the worst thing that could have ever happened. We had only known him for about four months, but it felt like my entire life was snatched away from me. From hearing about his potential diagnosis on Monday to getting the test results on Thursday, those were the worst four days of my life. Staying at home to be with him and watching his condition deteriorate so quickly was unbearable. He went from not eating and sleeping too much to not being able to walk or move. His belly started swelling and filled with liquid. He was so bloated he couldn’t handle his own weight. He took two breaks just to walk from his water fountain to his litter box, which was about five meters away. It hurt me deeply to see him struggle. I would lift him and move him to where he wanted to go, but that only made things worse. He was mentally and physically completely drained. He always sat close to me, either touching me or staring at me, looking at me helplessly, hoping that I could somehow make his pain go away.
I called the doctor multiple times, asking if the test results had come in, if we could order the medication anyway, if there was literally anything I could do other than just sit in front of him, helplessly letting him down. I googled the disease and its symptoms, the stages of progression, and prayed to every atom in the universe, every god I never believed in, to help him through the fatigue and the pain until the medicine arrived. I lost it when I saw him get down from the sofa and accidentally drop a piece of poop. He had lost control of his bowels, even if just for a moment. He could not walk straight or see clearly. He had been getting worse since the vet visit. It was a lot of stress for a small kitten.
While I sat there in front of him, waiting for the test results, watching him suffer and struggle, I kept oscillating between wanting him to hold on until the medicine arrived and wondering if that was selfish. Was I asking him to suffer just so he could live for me? He was just a baby. He had not lived his life. He deserved the chance to get better. But what if it was already too late? What if the medicine would not help? Why was I wishing for his prolonged suffering?
I didn’t want to cry in front of him, but inside I was breaking, torn between the guilt of wanting him to stay alive for me and the guilt of even considering that letting him go might be kinder.
I was going through all these emotions, and he was quietly staring at me. Eating little bits of food when I brought it close to him. Coming close to me, touching me, and lifting up my spirits. Small things like trying to roll on his stomach to get pets, getting up and walking towards the litter box wobbling around showing me his resilience and will to live.
We got the test results on Thursday and ordered the medicine. Even though we had preordered it in anticipation, it was a long process to actually get it. We had to wait for the doctor to approve the prescription, then for the pharmacy to prepare and ship it. The website said it would take three to five business days just to prepare the medication before shipping it with expedited delivery. We weren’t sure if Loki could hold on that long. He was getting worse really fast. We kept calling customer service, but they just repeated what was already on the website. Angry and helpless, we started planning to place orders with other vendors to avoid waiting through the weekend. We listed our options and planned to speak with the doctor again. Meanwhile, we soothed Loki and cleaned the poop that stuck to his tail, hoping he wasn’t feeling too mentally low from all of it.
We couldn’t sleep. We hadn’t slept well all week. At three in the morning on Friday, I received an email saying the medicine had shipped. It was the best feeling in the world. I didn’t even know if he would respond to it, but I was already overjoyed. I woke up my husband right away to tell him and that time, just that time, he didn’t mind being woken up. We received the package around 11 a.m. and gave Loki his first dose.
As soon as my husband gave him the first of eighty-four doses, Loki suddenly had the energy to jump onto the sofa and then into his hammock. That small jump brought us so much relief. Over the next few days, the wobble in his step slowly faded. After a week, his belly began to shrink. The fluid was reducing, his appetite was improving, and he started playing again. By the end of the second week, it was almost as if nothing had happened.
Tricking him into taking his medicine every morning may have cost me a few trust points and caused him some stress, but in the end, it doesn’t even matter. It’s been three months now. He has finished all his doses, and when we took him to the vet last week, his blood work came back clean.
We started noticing and celebrating all the small wins. It’s strange how, after everything goes dark, even the smallest things become beautiful—the steadier walk, the trip to the litter box without breaks, reaching his food and water, showing renewed interest in toys. I’m almost certain he was enjoying those little victories with us, showing off his new energy and quietly relishing life. He is now a happy little kitty, playing with his bother Thor.
If you’re going through something similar and need help, support, or just someone to talk to, please feel free to reach out. You’re not alone..
A Big shout out to Gilead scientists for making GS221524.