About a week ago our Birman cat Andromeda stopped eating, and was acting lethargic. The vet came to our house on Thursday, examined her, and gave her fluids and an appetite stimulant. She also drew blood and took a urine sample. The next day the test results came back, and they were puzzling. We decided to give her fluids over the weekend, a general antibiotic, and an anti-nausea medication. Despite all the treatment, she still refused to eat over the weekend and I had to syringe feed her (which she despised!) At this point, Andromeda was no longer leaving our bed except to use the litter box. On Sunday, she began breathing quickly and slightly swaying side to side while she was laying down. She was still purring and responsive, however.
On Monday the vet agreed to come back in the evening and do a follow-up blood test. As we awaited the vet's arrival, we realized that Andromeda was no longer purring when we pet her. Her beautiful blue eyes were sunk back so far into her head that they looked pitch black; there was no spark of the cat I knew present in those eyes. Before the vet even arrived, my husband and I decided that it was time for her to pass. We took the vet up to our bedroom when she got to our house, and I could see the look on her face when she saw Andromeda: she knew it was time, too. The vet told us that a pathologist looked at Andromeda's blood test, and based on the levels and her symptoms, it was apparent that she was suffering from FIP (Feline Infection Peritonitis), a fatal and incurable disease.
Together with our veterinarian, we made the difficult decision to relieve Andromeda of her suffering and let her pass on. She was administered a sedative to make her unaware of the happenings, and I held her in my lap as the lethal overdose was administered. My husband and I stroked her soft, beautiful fur and kissed her head as she drifted off into a sleep she would never awaken from. We spent a few more minutes saying our final goodbyes, and then the vet wrapped her up in one of our towels, swaddled like an infant. She looked so peaceful, a perfect sleeping angel wrapped in a palm tree printed bath towel.
We have requested a private cremation and to have her ashes returned to us, where they will lay to rest next to the ashes of our beloved Tinker. We've also requested a clay paw print to remember her dainty, prescious paws (with the long fur that grew so adorably between her gumdrop pink pads.)
Andromeda--I love you, and I will miss you now and forever. You'll always be my Fluffernutter, my Birman Baby, and no one will ever warm my pillow at night quite as well as you did.
