Player One Podcast

A little over three months ago, I excitedly wrote about Philo and Moxie, the two new kittens that my wife, Dana, and I adopted. A few weeks prior, we had lost our beloved cat Mia, whom had been our pet for nearly ten years. We were thrilled to have two such wonderful, energetic animals in our house, and we were looking forward to spending many years getting to know them.

Early this morning, we had to put Philo to sleep. He was a little over six months old.

About two weeks ago, Dana and I noticed that Philo wasn’t quite as energetic as he normally was. He was known for getting into mild mischief by climbing up on our bookshelves or hopping up onto my computer desk to find small items that he could knock to the floor and bat around, but he hadn’t been doing anything like that lately. Figuring that he was simply feeling a bit under the weather, we didn’t worry about this change of behavior too much until it seemed to go on a bit longer than usual. After a few days, we noticed that he felt a bit warm, so we took his temperature (yes, the way you’re imagining). Sure enough, he had a fairly high fever (104.something°).

The next day, November 3, I took Philo to the vet while Dana was at work. They took his temperature again, and it had risen a bit into the 105° range. Severely high temperature aside, the vet also expressed concern with Philo’s relatively large abdomen, which Dana and I had attributed to him getting a little chunky. The vet used a syringe to take a sample from Philo, and she discovered that his gut wasn’t getting large with fat; it was fluid.

This was a sure sign that Philo was suffering from a disease called feline infectious peritonitis (FIP) that is caused by a mutated virus in the cat’s system. It’s a fairly rare disease (roughly 1 in 5000 cats suffer from it), and it only strikes very young or very old cats. This big problem is that it is currently incurable and always fatal. There are actually two forms of the disease, commonly dubbed “wet” and “dry.” Philo had the more common “wet” form which, sadly, is the faster acting of the two.

The vet told me that when a cat is diagnosed with FIP, they usually have to be put to sleep within a month, but two weeks or less is more realistic. With this knowledge, there was little we could do for Philo but try to make him comfortable as his body slowly began to shut down.

Philo lasted six days after his diagnosis, and it was tremendously difficult on Dana and I. Sure, we “only” had Philo for three months, but in that time, we had grown incredibly attached to him (my frequent nickname for him was “little buddy”).

During his last week, Philo’s health seemed to randomly rise and fall. One day, he would barely move, only occasionally getting up to nibble on his food, drink a little water, and use his litter box. At times like these, Dana and I were convinced that it was the end. The next day, however, he would be surprisingly alert. He would still be rather lethargic, but he would have a sudden burst of energy and start to play like he did when he was healthy. This would convince Dana and I that he might be able to fight through for another week or two.

This cycle continued until last Friday when we noticed that he had stopped eating. We figured that his swollen abdomen might be putting pressure on his stomach, making it uncomfortable to eat. Indeed, it made it difficult for him to turn around to groom his hindquarters. We set up an appointment on Saturday to have the fluid drained.

The next day, the vet drained him, removing about 2/3 of a liter of fluid from his lower body. He initially perked up immediately afterward, which gave Dana and I hope, but despite his regained ability to groom himself, he continued to not eat. With his weight and energy levels dramatically dropping over the weekend, the vet advised us to attempt to feed him with a food syringe, which we did on Sunday afternoon. He seemed to enjoy it at first, so things were looking up. Unfortunately, late Sunday night, everything began to fall apart.

Philo vomited up the food that we had given him earlier in the day, along with his pills. He then spent the night periodically coughing up saliva, which had turned thick and foamy. He also wandered over to his cat bed and urinated in it. This was the only time that he had ever not used his litter box.

When he was first diagnosed, the vet told me that FIP strikes hard and fast. Things may seem OK one minute, and the next, everything breaks down. She also told me that some signs that he is ready to go would be a lack of eating, vomiting, and incontinence–all of which Philo was suddenly suffering from.

It was time. As soon as the vet opened this morning, we called and filled them in on our situation. Within minutes, Dana and I were standing in a room, petting our dear Philo for the last time as he slowly went to sleep.

He was far too young for this to happen, and it was far too soon after Mia’s death. Dana and I have been crying an awful lot this week.

Philo was a pretty fantastic cat. When we first saw him, we were instantly charmed by his large, hairy ears and the little mark on his lip that made it look like he had been sipping coffee and stained his fur. We also loved that he was so close to his sister, Moxie. Moxie, by the way, is most likely safe from getting FIP. We had her checked out immediately after Philo was diagnosed.

Philo was trouble, but never harmful trouble. Like I mentioned, he simply loved to explore and climb where he probably shouldn’t. He was also extremely active and very playful. We didn’t have to worry about Philo clawing up the furniture or anything like that, but he might give you a friendly nip on the finger when you were petting him.

I do take some comfort in the fact that both Dana and I got some quality time with Philo before he died. A couple nights ago, he cuddled on our bed with Dana for hours as she played Zuma’s Revenge on her laptop. Last night, he sat on my lap for a few hours as I wrote an article for work (a review of Rabbids Go Home for G4). Of course, I was frequently distracted by my need to pet the little guy, but I’m exceptionally glad that I never took him off of my lap so that I could better concentrate. Moxie also gave Philo a few licks on his face before we took him off to the vet this morning. It was simultaneously the sweetest and most depressing thing that I have ever seen. Dana and I both lost it when it happened.

Luckily, we have lots of pictures of Philo and even a few videos, so there is plenty to remember him by. And of course, we still have Moxie, who I must admit has made dealing with this loss a bit easier. The video I am posting below is the last footage that I recorded of Philo. It was recorded on November 5, two days after his diagnosis. This was one of his aforementioned bursts of energy that showed Dana and me that he wasn’t ready to check out just yet.

He was such an awesome cat. I miss him.

Phil Theobald Cats cat, kitty, memorial, Philo

This is Mia.

Mia was, until earlier today, our cat. My wife, Dana, and I were forced to put the little girl to sleep after she became tremendously ill last night.

Back in February, Mia clearly wasn’t feeling well—she was lethargic and refused to eat. A trip to the vet revealed that she had hepatitis, which attacks the liver. She was given some medication, and after a while, she was back to her old self.

Dana and I recently noticed that Mia was showing those same symptoms again. She was less active than she usually is, and her food dish would be left untouched. Yesterday, I took Mia to the vet while Dana was at work. Mia was given the same diagnosis as before, and I took her home with a fresh batch of medicine. Shortly after returning home, however, Mia took a turn for the worse. She began having difficulty breathing and she could not move on her own. She had a similar reaction to her first dose of medicine back in February, though, so we weren’t too concerned.

As the evening went on, however, she was clearly having more and more trouble breathing. Dana and I became so concerned that we rushed her to a 24 hour emergency vet at around midnight. The vet stabilized her with and IV and an oxygen tank and kept her overnight so that he could give her an X-ray and an ultrasound. At around 8:00 this morning, the emergency vet told us that she was stable enough to be moved to her regular vet. We transported Mia and left her with the vet for a couple hours.

The vet called us with terrible news. With a new X-ray of Mia in hand, the vet was able to compare it with her old X-ray taken back in February. A giant tumor was growing out of Mia’s liver. Although it wasn’t noticeable from outside of her body, the tumor was massive. The vet explained that Mia most likely had lymphoma, a type of cancer that sadly, isn’t all that treatable in cats.

This is what Dana and I had feared, and we had discussed our options while waiting for the vet’s call. We rushed to the vet where we made the decision that Mia would have to be put to sleep. The poor thing was in terrible shape when we arrived. Her breathing had become so strained that her teeth were bared (which is something she never did) as she struggled for breath.

After a brief discussion with the vet, Dana and I opted to be with Mia when she died. We went into a room and Mia was placed on a blanket on the table. Dana and I each took turns holding her one last time, and we wept openly. We told Mia that she was a wonderful cat and that we loved her.

With that, the vet placed the syringe in her leg and prepared to give her the final injection. Dana stood near Mia’s head and scratched it as our cat passed. Mia loved to get head rubs from Dana. I, meanwhile, stood behind Mia and gave her a tummy scritch, the term we used for when Mia would flop on the floor in front of me as an invitation to scratch her belly. The vet slowly injected the fluid, and within seconds, Mia was gone.

She’s gone, but she died with her people around her, giving her as much love as she got in life.

As I type this through tear-blurred eyes, I know that it might seem somewhat grim to recount our beloved cat’s final day. To be honest, though, we’re both in a world of shock still, and this is helping me deal with the situation.

It’s hitting Dana and I so hard because we loved—no, we love—our cat. I’m going to argue that you can continue to love something that is not around anymore. We got Mia from an animal shelter in Illinois back in January, 2001, and she has been an important part of our family ever since. When I moved to California with my Ziff Davis job, Mia stayed in Chicago with Dana as Dana completed law school. Dana fully credits Mia’s companionship with giving her the strength to finish her classes. When I would fly back to Illinois to visit Dana, it would always strike me as amusing that Dana seemed to treat Mia more like a roommate than a pet, something that I’ve told her in the past.

It’s true that Mia went well past the pet level for us into full-on buddy category. She was terrifically friendly, and she had several personality quirks that further endeared her to us.

I’ve posted videos on YouTube of Mia’s odd drinking habits. I don’t know why, but I was always amused by her love of a tasty beverage. Whether she was drinking water out of her bowl with her paw, standing up to grab an ice cube that we would drop into her water or simply licking condensation off of one of my drinks, Mia wouldn’t let anything get between her and refreshment.

In recent months, Mia has taken to sitting on my lap, which is something that she wouldn’t do in the past. Occasionally when I would be sitting at my computer desk, I would feel a light tapping on my thigh. When I looked down, Mia would be standing on her hind legs and tapping me. As I noticed her, she would look up at me with a look of, “Why aren’t you petting me?” If I just scratched her head for a bit and returned to my computer, she would start tapping me again. Eventually, I would pick her up and drop her on my lap. Nine times out of ten, she would delicately cuddle up on my leg and chill out for a while. When Dana would be in bed, Mia would use the tapping technique to get Dana’s attention, usually with the intent of wanting some petting.

Mia also got into the habit lately of climbing up onto my stomach as I lay on the couch watching TV or playing a game. She would perch on my stomach and proceed to do that cat kneading thing for up to 10-15 minutes at a time. It kills me to know that I’ll never feel that again.

Yes, Mia was a wonderful, beautiful cat, and we are heartbroken that she is gone. Although the place that we adopted her from didn’t know her exact age, we estimate that she was probably about ten years old (or perhaps slightly older). It’s a relatively early age for a cat to die, but even so, she had a fantastic life. She was loved and comforted right up until the end.

So for you regular listeners of the podcast, if you don’t hear a familiar, faint bell jingle in the background anymore, you’ll know why. Dana and I already miss that jingle.

We miss our Mia.

Phil Theobald Cats, Miscellany cat, kitty, memorial, Mia