||[Aug. 4th, 2013|06:53 pm]
At one o'clock, William was a bit lethargic, but nothing so strange it put me on my guard. He wanted to sit in a soft warm space, and not be bothered. No big deal; so he was a bit moody.
At four o'clock, he started meowing loudly, as if in pain and confused. He walked to the bedroom in a stagger, which made me realize he was in serious trouble. I started checking on the emergency vet, threw together a care bag, showered quickly, and took him down.
I knew what the answer was likely to be when I put him in his carrier - he was completely limp.
The vet threw out two theories; it could be heart failure due to a congenital heart defect; it could be a virus (Feline Leukemia - he'd been tested as negative, so probably not) or some other virus that usually causes diarrhea, but sometimes mutates into a deadly form. But he said that he had fluid in his lungs and abdomen, and that was always awful. It was awful if there was fluid in just one... both meant it was even more serious.
Heart failure fit - he was never very strong or active and his activity had lessened over the past few weeks. He grew, but never developed the strength of his brother Leo. I'd often been concerned about that.
But the long and the short of it was, the vet said that this was not a good situation, and there wasn't a good prognosis unless it turned out to be something they couldn't guess just now. Heart failure couldn't be treated (at least, not in a kitten that young), and the virus was essentially always fatal.
I didn't see any really good choices; it sounded like we were basically hoping it was something really weird that they would find miraculously quickly, and find a fix when the vet didn't expect there to be one.
So I said my goodbyes and cuddled him while the vet administered the final shot to bring him the only peace I had left to give him.