Survivors Guilt in Feline Misadventures

David coming to the end of his treatment is extremely bittersweet. I am beyond thrilled that my little marshmallow cat has survived 12 weeks of treatments for a terminal illness. I have known him since he was hours old. I have had to champion for him since then- his brother Johnny as Cain to his Able from the start, and even before they could walk or opened their eyes, Johnny would target David specifically to rip him off whatever nipple he was on and take it himself. He was a momma’s boy (to Rosie, his actual mother) and when she finally went to her forever home when he and his siblings were 11 weeks, he decided I was the next best thing. Knowing he has a fighting chance to beat FIP (February 18th is the date he has to make it to without a relapse to be considered cured) is thrilling. Knowing that the daily struggle to get him injected with the right dose, the cost of obtaining his meds, the feeling as though 84 days would never, ever end- that even if it fails it gave him 12 weeks he was not guaranteed in September- by the time cats are diagnosed with FIP, they typically have hours to days to maybe weeks, most of which will be painful.

The bitterness in his hopeful cure is knowing that Mouse and Stevie could have been spared their fate. I was vaguely aware of the GS treatment for FIP then, but it seemed like a way to scam desperate pet owners out of thousands of dollars (and I’m sure there are plenty of hucksters who do just that). If I had known it was an actual treatment, I would not have been able to afford it- I can’t afford David’s. I already live paycheck to paycheck, and since buying these precious little vials, I’m very lucky if there’s money left over each paycheck for literally anything else. Back when Stevie was diagnosed, I hadn’t been at my job a full month yet, after almost two years of not working. Treating her, then Mouse (who was diagnosed the day Stevie died), would not have been in the realm of possibilities, but I still feel incredible guilt when I see how much David is currently thriving. Wouldn’t it have been worth it to try then? At that point I had just maxed out my credit card getting all of the Roses spayed/neutered, after spending what little other money I had getting the rest of the colony TNR’d that winter. I’d truly do anything to have Stevie and Mouse back. But every time David has a difficult injection day, or feels the burn of the medication especially hard, I just think of Stevie and Mouse’s precious faces and push on.

He hasn’t had a good day today, which makes me nervous. He went and played with his siblings in the snow and then spent the rest of the day asleep, right by my side. I hope it’s just the shock of the cold and the vigor of his play that has had him wiped out for hours. Observation might be worse, because I’ll be hyperfocused on every. little. detail. Hopefully February 18th comes as swiftly as November 26, and with just an optimistic result.