We said goodbye to Peter yesterday afternoon.
He'd been doing so well, his stools firmed up, just Friday he ate two whole cans of Fancy Feast, not just picking at them, but he ate a full can at one sitting in the morning and another in the afternoon. He still had some breathing issues, but nothing like I remember him having when we first took him in.
Then on Saturday, his appetite dropped. He ate a little, but not much. Same on Sunday. And his breathing started to have a hitch in it. Watching him breathe, he'd take a breath, then there was a, how to describe it, like a 'thunk' in his side. Not audible, but visible. So, Monday morning I called the vet and made an appointment, the first one available was yesterday afternoon.
In the evenings he liked to lay on me and Monday night I paid extra attention to his breathing. It calmed down and when Brian got up to go to bed, I told him I'd stay with Pete until he got off of me.
A few hours later, he was off and I went to bed. Yesterday morning was business as usual, he showed some hunger, but he just didn't have much of an appetite. Very little pooping as well.
When we got to the vet, he was gasping for breath. Open mouth breathing. Continuously. This was a new issue and I just wrote it off to stress.
It wasn't. The vet said when she listed to his heart, his wheezing was so bad, she could hardly hear it. She advised us that, although we could get x-rays, give him meds, it was just going to get worse. She said cats with COPD (first time she's used this term about him) just don't get better. And she said it was his time.
We said goodbye.
I knew he was sick, but I had no idea he was that bad. I thought it would be a routine exam and he'd come home with us.
He was one of the best cats ever.
Pete in better days, after playing in the catnip
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