This is the last photo I took of Maddie. She is sitting on the kitchen table. She was a sweetheart. She liked to sit on my lap and be petted while I was on the computer. FIP came exactly like a thief in the night and stole her away from me. At 8 last night, she was at dinner and nibbled at her food. At midnight treat time, she didn't want her treats, which was unheard of. Then I noticed her abdominal muscles working hard, just like Cissy's did the day before she died. There is an all night emergency vet 36 miles away, but I don't have a car and my friend was in bed asleep, so I had to wait for morning. By the time I could get her in to her regular vet, it was too late. Her chest cavity was almost completely filled with fluid and she was suffocating. The vet gave her a 1-2% chance of surviving an attempt to drain the fluid, so we put her to sleep. During the wait between the sedative and the fatal injection, I held her in my lap. I think that she liked that. Now she is at the Rainbow Bridge. Sea Shell must have run to greet her. Now they are romping together on the grass with weather like spring, having an absolute ball together.
I keep thinking that I don't know how much more of this I can take, but then I look at all their sweet faces and know that I have to keep right on taking them in. I find the strength by remembering that without me, they might not have a life at all. They do all so much enjoy being here with me and each other that I absolutely cannot say, "Enough, no more!" So, I will keep right on taking them in and taking care of them and losing them. I must be doing something right because right now I have three five-year-olds who got the disease as kittens. The expected lifespan with the disease is four years maximum.