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Pet Parent: Lisa


Max's Moment: Undisclosed.

FIP Story: Last Thanksgiving, my 13 year old white Persian cat, Lilly, became ill. She was an older cat, and despite our best efforts, Lilly lost her fight on January 9, 2009 (we had to put her to sleep). She did not have FIP. Later that month, while visiting a local animal shelter/rescue, I found an adorable gray kitten. I decided to make arrangements to adopt her. I went back the following week to pick her up and discovered that she had been adopted to someone else, in spite of the fact that her file said pending adoption. Distraught, I was about to leave, when this sweet little black kitten jumped on my lap. He followed me around, meowing and purring - he definitely wanted to get my attention. Thus began my relationship with my sweet little Max. He was the best kitten - a total love who was playful, curious, affectionate - everything I wanted in a cat. There was not doubt that I was his Mommy. :) About three weeks ago, Max suddenly stopped playing. He stopped eating. I had no idea what was wrong, so I took him to a local animal hospital. There, he was diagnosed with hemobartonella, given an antibiotic, and referred back to our own vet. The next day, my vet was very concerned. He didn't think it was hemobartonella and strongly urged me to take Max to the University of Illinois Small Animal Clinic, the very best place in our area to help sick animals. Luckily, it was only an hour and a half away - well within driving distance. At first, the doctors there agreed - it was most likely hemobartonella - and put him on prednisolone and doxycycline. It was on our second visit that FIP was mentioned as a possibility. At first, Max seemed better. He was eating again and trying to act like his old self. Sadly, internally he continued to deteriorate. He was finally diagnosed with the wet form of FIP after countless blood tests, ultrasounds, and x-rays, as well as the withdrawal of fluid from his belly. This devastating diagnosis was made on Thursday, May 7, 2009. The doctor at U of I said he probably had anywhere from a week or two to a month or two - she just wasn't sure. I decided to make the most of what little life he had left and spoil him rotten. We had a great weekend. Then, on Sunday Night (Mother's Day), he took a turn for the worse. I stayed up with him all night, knowing that in the morning, I would have to let him go. At 7:30 a.m. on Monday, May 11, my sweet Max crossed the Rainbow Bridge. He was only 6 months old. I will never forget him. I am so blessed to have been his Mommy, even if only for a few months. I love you always, Maxy Baby.




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