Letter to Saab

Dearest Saab,

Today you're turning 1. This is not really your birthday, but your rescue-versary. You were such a charming boy that even if I had no plans of adding a new baby to the PAWsome Cats team, I chose to give you your furever home.

You were my dream cat. My mom had her own black cat so many years ago, and her stories of petting her cat's black shiny coat made me dream of you. I imagined photographing you with your bright green eyes standing out of your round face in lusciously black fur. I imagined so many years of mischief being with you, as you are such a fun character.

Indeed, you brought a lot of mischief and laughter in our home. Rue was so jealous of you, but only because you loved life like there's no tomorrow. You played so hard you used to conk out beside your toy, where you were playing. We would gently tug at your ear, paw, tail, but you wouldn't budge as you were recharging. After a power nap, you're back to your mischievous play.

Oh, how you loved fetching your favorite toys! While Qish and Rue would hide during vet visits at home, you willingly sacrificed yourself as their source of entertainment, alternately bringing them your toys for a fetch play. You also did not fear going to the vets' clinic. In fact, you enjoyed it so much you used to roll around their floor, much to our pleasure. There was so much life in you, little boy.

Until you stopped eating your food.

Until you stopped playing and just slept all day.

Until your bright green eyes showed abnormality.

I brought you to our vets right away, little one. You had anisocoria, or uneven dilation of the eyes. It's not really a condition, but a symptom for an underlying illness.

As I celebrated the fact that you tested negative for FIV/FeLV, it didn't prepare me for the worst news a cat owner can recieve. They said you have FIP (Feline Infectious Peritonitis). It's a death sentence, and you were unfairly chosen to have it.

I will never forget what happened in the consultation room that night. My mind just blacked out. There were so many thoughts, but they were all incoherent. I was shaking, but I can't speak. They were telling me more tests had to be done, and I just nodded. But I didn't cry, because it didn't feel real. I left you there at the clinic because they can take care of you better. I walked for 45 minutes in my office clothes from the clinic to our home, because I thought it would wake me up from this nightmare. If I could walk to the moon and back so everything goes back to how happy we were, I would.

Who knew you will never come home again in one piece after that vet visit?

The "visit" turned out to be a 3-week stay full of love until life slowly slipped out of you. We celebrated Christmas in September, had dinner together on weekdays, slept together on weekends, and painfully accepted that you were only destined to spend a short lifetime with us. I tried to enjoy it as much as I can, because you were a dream I was not meant to keep.

Finally, on Oct. 13, 2013, you went on your journey to the Rainbow Bridge. You didn't even let me send you off. You slipped away, 2 hours after I left you to take a shower. I was there in 15 minutes after Dr. Riza called to say that this may be the time for our last goodbye, but you chose to say it to Dr. Riza and Dr. Melay instead. Perhaps you didn't want me to see your final seizure, or the last breath that you drew. When I got there, you were so limp, so soft, so...lifeless. I finally took you home again the following day, but you were in a million tiny pieces. Your ashes are the only reminder that you once ruled our home.

If there's one lesson that you left me with, it's to EMBRACE LIFE WITH PASSION. Even on your last day when you were already weak and wobbly, you still managed to walk to your favorite sun spot at your suite's balcony, lounging on the fake grass. You even scratched me in defiance when I carried you back to your room, because I thought it was too hot for you. You wanted things to be normal even if you weren't. You wanted to enjoy life even if you were in pain. You just had to soak in the sun, and everything seemed okay.

In your short time of 7 months with us, you always had the zest for life, even if Qish smacks you in the face, or you get sprayed with water for being on the kitchen counter. You were so full of life – maybe that was all the energy you were supposed to have, had you lived to your senior years. And for that, I am grateful. You may not have lived that long, but you touched so many people's heart, because you were such a charming little boy with a vibrant character.

I am trying to help other unfortunate pet parents who have to deal with FIP by offering emotional support or knowledge. I believe what happened to you has a higher purpose – maybe to create awareness, educate people and touch more lives. You are such a hero in our eyes, baby, so brave to fight a disease bigger and stronger than you. I know you are pain-free now, but I miss you terribly.

I love you, Sabio Leãozinho. My wise little lion, happy 1st rescue-versary. Enjoy your party at the Rainbow Bridge.

Longing to see you,

Hooman Momma

Chwithmath Wif Saab

-- Hooman Momma

Christmas would have been sweeter with the little rascal Saab around, but God had other plans for him. Each day becomes easier as I learn to accept that Saab was just a passing soul, a reminder that life can be beautiful no matter how short it was lived.

I am so glad we celebrated Chwithmath wif Saab on September 28, back when he still had the energy to be merry and enjoy his pawty. The idea came as I was Whatsapp-ing with my PAWsome friends -- because Saab was diagnosed with FIP, I knew that his time on earth won't be long. I told them I wish he would at least stay until Christmas. We were all sad, but then Tinette said, "Why don't we all celebrate Christmas with Saab this Saturday?!" It was the brightest idea. I had one day to prepare for it. There really wasn't much to prepare for, but I wanted a little tarp and some Christmas stuff brought to the clinic :) I also ordered cupcakes for him from Whole Pet Kitchen.

On Chwithmath day, Saab was all perky in his red Christmas scarf. He was his usual curious self, greeting everyone and making sure their plates were full. He was a poster boy for a party cat :) He only had a few guests, but he enjoyed being the center of everybody's attention.

I will be forever thankful to Dr. Riza and Dr. Melay of The Pet Project Vet Clinic for making sure Saab lived his life to the fullest in his last few remaining days. He truly was loved, pampered and spoiled rotten there :) 

Here's how we spent Chwithmath wif Saab:

Cupcakes for pets from Whole Pet Kitchen

Dr. Riza and Dr. Melay of The Pet Project Vet Clinic

Saab's beloved guests (from L): Tinette, myself, Dr. Melay, Dr. Riza, my mom, Janice

Friday the 13th

-- Hooman Momma

It's Friday the 13th, and it would have been purr-fect if Saab's still here to goof around on the day when black cats are supposed to bring bad luck! Coincidentally, today has been 2 months since he went fishing for good. 

I still feel a lump in my throat when I light a candle for him in the morning, but we're all getting by fine. I would like to think that what happened to Saab has a higher purpose: because of the extensive research my vets and I did when Saab was sick, they are now able to help another FIP+ patient (and another male black cat!) through the experimental drug that we never got the chance to give to Saab. The Pet Project Vet Clinic also named Saab's favorite spot at the altar by the balcony, "Saab's Corner." It's unbelievable how many lives Saab has touched (and continue to touch) in his short life here on earth! I love you, baby <3 nbsp="">

My Wise Little Lion is Gone

-- Hooman Momma

Sábio Leãozinho is the literal translation of wise little lion in Portuguese. Our vet wanted him to be an action star if he grew up, but Saab always preferred to be a ninja.

ONE MONTH. 

It's been a month since the biggest battle of Saab's short life has been lost. I never updated this blog, because it was very painful for me to accept that Saab is no longer around to bring joy and mischief to our humble home.

Tiny Saab. What a cutiepie!

Saab was a handsome boy. No doubt about that.

When Saab was still confined at The Pet Project Vet Clinic and people asked me how he was, I always choked on my reply -- HE'S DYING. For how else can you describe the quick deterioration of Saab's health? That after only 3 weeks of discovering the first symptom, he was gone? That his vibrant, conversational meow when he was still well was reduced to a mere cry of pain as the days went on? That each day he spent at the hospital was a day closer to his death sentence? It was truly a very tough journey that no loving pet parent and furbaby deserve to go through.

Saab was scared of dogs before, but he shared a short friendship with Buster at the clinic, a black Labrador. Maybe because they're both black?

The first symptom that appeared was his unevenly dilated eyes, and his left iris developed a red-orange tint. Later on, his right pupil became irregularly shaped, as seen in these photos.

Feline Infectious Peritonitis (FIP) is a heartless, evil disease that steals the life of beautiful angels, whose only fault was acquiring corona virus that mutated in their genetically predisposed DNA. One trigger is all it takes to activate its fury -- sickness, stress, or anything that would compromise his immune system. In Saab's case, it was his neutering. There's really nothing we could have done about it -- not neutering was not an option. FIP is like a thief in the night that waits patiently for an opportunity to attack and take over.

Saab being prepped for neutering by Dr. Riza and Dr. Melay on August 18, 2013.

Saab recovering at home after surgery.

What's even more depressing is that there is no cure for FIP. There are experimental drugs such as Interferon Omega and Polyprenyl Immunostimulant, but before we could even get our hands on these options, Saab's FIP already progressed to the point of no return. Using these drugs would be futile, because Saab was already beyond repair. Logistically, it would have not been possible for the medicines to arrive on time because it had to be ordered from the US, and while it can be sent via FedEx, customs in Manila (knowing how corrupt they are) may intercept an experimental drug and not release it on time. It is an expensive drug, but I know in my heart that I would never hesitate to try it if we only had the means.

On October 12, Saturday, I knew it was almost time. Our amazing vets, Dr. Riza Zunio and Dr. Melay Pelayo, already talked to me about putting Saab to sleep. But I chose to hold on. I just couldn't let go. I spent several nights sleeping beside Saab at the clinic, and on that last night, we slept together peacefully with him using my arm as his pillow. 

In the morning of October 13, Sunday, at exactly 9:00 am, Saab marched weakly to his favorite sun spot at the balcony of his suite. For the last two weeks, he goes there everyday, to lounge around the fake grass under the sun. Oh, how he loved that spot. It was so heartwarming that despite his condition, he still chose to enjoy what little life is left in him. He grew even weaker in the afternoon, and Dr. Riza decided to put him on IV drip. He seemed stable, and I decided to leave him at 4:30 pm to freshen up at home.

Saab's beautiful suite, his home for 3 weeks. He had supervised access to the balcony where he spent his morning lounging on his sun spot.

A peaceful photo of Saab on his last day, sleeping on the fake grass.

At 6:15 pm on October 13, I received a call from Dr. Riza, telling me that Saab had a seizure. It was almost time. My mom and I hurriedly left home. While on the road, at 6:38 pm, I received a text message that he's gone. We arrived at the clinic at 6:45 pm, and we were 15 minutes late. He finally gave up at 6:30 pm, in the arms of our loving vets. They tried to revive him, but he was already too tired. He didn't want to fight anymore. 

Saab had the sad look of death on his last day. He was too tired to fight a battle bigger and tougher than him.

I prayed hard that if Saab couldn't be cured anymore, then just please let him rest. But even if Saab prepared me for 3 weeks for the inevitable, it was still very tragic. It was even more painful that he decided to leave without me by his side, but what comforted me was the thought that he probably loved me so much he didn't want me to see him die. 

I realized that putting an animal companion to sleep is a very personal decision that should only be discussed by people directly involved in the care of the sick animal. At the onset of his illness, I received several messages from people telling me to relieve him of the pain and just put him to sleep. But those 3 weeks were too precious to give away. He was even still very playful in the first week. I would never have it any other way. When I got that crucial call from Dr. Riza, I was ready to let him rest, because I knew that was it.. But I am still glad he didn't let me make that choice. It would have broken me even more.

The last best thing I could give to Saab is a private cremation and beautiful memorabilia, to honor all the beautiful memories he left us with. I am thankful I found Pet Valley Park and Crematory for the quick and efficient service.

This cross stich craftwork was given to us by our vets. What a great way to capture the blessed life of Saab at the Rainbow Bridge!

Time heals all wounds. While it got easier as days passed by, I still miss him. Everyday. I light a candle for him every morning, just to relish in the warm and sweet personality of Saab. It gets me going each day.

I would like to thank my mom, our vets, friends, PAWsome Cats followers, and the Facebook groups FIP Fighters and Cat Care Philippines, for holding my hand (physically and virtually) in this difficult journey. I am truly grateful for all the heartfelt support that you have given me, and for all the love that you showered Saab with.

I hope you are not getting into too much trouble at the Rainbow Bridge, Saab. You must be giving St. Francis a lot of headache. I love you, Sábio Leãozinho. Goodbye, little one...