Kastie Pavlik : Sweet Neko-Chan. Damn FIP.


Neko 7/09/03-10/16/12

Toward the end of September, Neko displayed symptoms of a painful infection that we (my husband and I) hoped she would fight off and go back to being her spunky self. We whisked her off to the animal ER and came home with a simple diagnosis and antibiotics only to take her to our local animal hospital a day later for worsening symptoms. After a two week stay in the hospital, on steroids, three antibiotics, and receiving subcu-iv fluids, she was stable enough to come home and the outlook was good. We missed her the entire time she was gone...there was no one to keep my pajamas warm on the floor and no one to "rally the troops" at dinner time. So, to say we were happy to have her home is a vast understatement.

Four or five days later, we drove off for vacation leaving Neko in my father-in-law's capable hands. She was his little buddy, so instead of boarding her as planned, we worked it out so she could stay home and visit with him. We felt guilty for continuing on with our vacation, but she truly seemed to be doing well. She even joined Lucien's passive protest at our departure. She said goodbye to us at the door and off we went. It was a trip of relaxation, something "prescribed" by my doctor to help me unwind with my MS, and also a good-bye trip of its own since our favorite B&B is closing in December - it was our last chance to go. Mid-way through, we received notice that Neko had stopped eating and had been taken back to the hospital.

I am thoroughly grateful for my father-in-law's diligence and care. Without such loving attention, Neko may have endured more suffering. (I'm not saying we would have missed it; just that had we not had someone staying in our home during our absence, it might have gone unnoticed.) She stayed at the hospital until October 16.

Throughout her stays at the hospital, I called once or twice daily to check in on her and we visited with her regularly. On our October 15th visit, we both realized all hope for her recovery was quickly slipping from our sight, but we still hoped. She was happy to see us, but lethargic and uncomfortable.

On October 16th, my fears were confirmed. Her slow downward spiral had sped up. All of her vets and techs were absolutely wonderful and caring, and in the conversation when her main doctor said I should prepare myself to euthanize Neko, she also stated that Neko had looked like she needed to snuggle, so she had tried to cuddle with her but Neko was in too much pain and cried. The sentiment in the action and the doctor's voice really warmed my heart. She cared that much, and that's the kind of care and empathy we received from everyone. We planned to euthanize Neko during our visit that evening. Unfortunately, Neko's pain grew worse during the day and I received a call at 2:45pm that I needed to get there as soon as possible. My husband and I got there shortly after 3 and spent about twenty minutes visiting with her while the initial sedation kicked in. Even in her pain, Neko was glad to see us. She grasped the end of the table and pulled herself closer to us, even placing her paw on my hand - a moving gesture that was very much Neko. She loved to touch us and would frequently set one paw on our shoulders when she slept behind us on the recliner or sofa. We moved forward with euthanizing her as swiftly as we could despite our desire to put off our pain - her comfort and well-being came first.

Her heart stopped around 3:30pm. We spent more time with her afterward than we got to spend with her beforehand. I couldn't believe it was happening - that it had happened. My sweet little girl, my baby Neko was gone. I cradled her head and body to my chest and buried my face in her fur, sobbing and crying her name. She was more than a cat - more than a pet. We met her before her eyes were even open. We visited her weekly as a baby before we ever brought her home. And when she came home, she became David's surrogate daughter, which made her our last link to him. Neko was a special girl.

She was smart, quirky, and loving. Her first Christmas forced us to rethink the positioning of the cats' stocking because she kept thinking of and finding ways to get into the stocking to get the feather teaser we had purchased. If life had been a cartoon, the artist would have drawn the gears turning in her head, and we could practically see those thoughts and plans churning away...'if I jump there...and then jump there......I think I can reach it.' Those gears kept turning for the rest of her life. She was a thinker and she was chatty. If she got an idea, she was sure to tell you about it (or you could see her thoughts just waiting to play out). And as talkative as she was, she was just as good a listener. She loved to think, loved to talk, and loved to listen.

She loved Davey Pu as much as we did and mourned his loss. For a long time after his death, she was lost and lonely, left on her own to find her new path. She took to Lucien, but not like she did with David. She was forever changed. Then came Jonny. She may have hated him at first, but they grew close and now Jonny is the lost one, lonely and missing his cuddle friend. And then we got Groucho and she took to him, as well. We have so many pictures of these piles of cats, just sleeping on top of each other, because Neko finally had more good friends. Those four were so close, even Sake became more sociable and appeared in many of those pictures (not in the pile, of course - she's far too refined for such a thing).

But now, once again, we have lost a special member of our family, and instead of a pile of cats, sleeping happily together, we have four cats scattered around the house in search of their friend. While she may have missed David, the glue of our original five, she also stepped up and took his place, becoming the tie that would bind a new group.

We had Neko for all but a few weeks of her nine-year life. As I said, she was always there - always sleeping on or near us, and if she was close to us, she had to touch us. She liked to yank out my hair and bite Tim's chin. When she felt like no one was paying attention to her, she would pick up a toy mouse in the opposite end of the house and muffle a cry out loud until someone came to play with her. She would play fetch with her mice, actually chasing them down and bringing them back. She loved to go outside, to the point that she knew what the word "outside" meant.

"Does Neko want to go outside?" would bring her running to the door, where she would wait to be picked up and taken to her favorite place because when she was a baby, I started this "tradition" of putting her up on my shoulder so we could go outside and feed the birds and squirrels. She'd get comfortable on my shoulder and hang on while I poured bags of seed, and this tradition continued even as she grew bigger - too big to sit on my shoulder. She would crawl her way up and wrap herself around my neck like a fur stole, and out we'd go. Then she got even bigger, weighing at her heaviest probably 19 pounds (thanks to her diet, she got down to a little over 16 pounds - we were worried she'd get diabetes :-/). Yet even then, we'd continue our ventures. She'd try to get up on my shoulder, but had to settle for being held. Sometimes she would get to go down - onto an outside table or bench or swing, where she would stay and wait for me - and I'd pick long blades of grass for her to chew. She loved grass so much that I learned the hard way to keep my fingers out of the way when she was going after grass!

Neko loved many things, especially Christmas, probably stemming back to her first Christmas. She knew she was going to get toys and we have many a picture of her (and other cats) passed out on Christmas morning after playing with their catnip and all their toys. Yes. Neko was filled with love for all things...even Jonny-fang face (and blogging...she was known to "kick" me off the keyboard to make her word known).

She was love epitomized, unconditional and unequivocal, and she was loved unconditionally and unequivocally. I miss my sweet little girl. I miss her dearly. Tim has found some comfort that she is no longer suffering, and while I, too, am glad she is no longer in pain, I cannot find such comfort. My pain is more selfish. My little girl is never coming home and that crushes my soul. I never thought I'd feel the pain I felt after David died, but I was wrong. It's too easy for my mind to trick me into thinking she's still at the hospital, but I have to face the truth. Neko had FIP (feline infectious peritonitis), a lethal infection born from a dormant virus residing in most cats that "mutates into something ugly," as my vet said, and something that is incredibly difficult to test for. Even facing death and with undeniable symptoms, the tests came back negative. "Ugly" does not begin to define the disease.

According to the ASPCA website, it is fatal in 95% of cases and cats who contract it generally die within 2 months of symptom onset. My Neko fought for nearly four weeks. My Neko received the best care she could get and had loving doctors and techs. My Neko was a brave little girl who faced everything thrown her way with a curious eye no matter what and was loved by everyone who met her. Even in pain, she was in everybody's business, demanding her share of their attention in her sweet, yet assertive way. Even if she was tired or weak, she pulled herself closer to the people she loved and reached out to touch them. That is one of the fondest and saddest memories I'll have of her.

She comforted me in many times of need, climbing into my lap and purring while my tears dripped onto her body. I hope I was able to comfort her in her time of need, but that little gesture, her little paw reaching out and gripping my thumb, was like her way of telling me it was okay. Letting us know that she was going to be okay. I know she is okay. She is with David, again, after all.

People exist in this world who won't understand this post, but people also exist who will empathize because they grieve the loss of their own furry family members. Our cats are our family. They are our friends. They are the beings in little fur coats who hear about our days and spend their time with us because we love them as family. But every once in a while, one of those little beings is extra special and touches us in ways we could never imagine. David was the first. Neko unexpectedly followed in his place. I still mourn for David. I know I will still grieve for Neko years from now. My sweet koneko-chan is no longer with us in body, but she will always live on my heart and my memories. And it's those memories that will make me laugh and cry as the years without her pass.