She simply sat there; her eyes semi-closed and her pupils hugely dilated even in broad daylight making them appear as large black glassy pools, looking up at me, like I had the answers.

Her face was gaunt like the rest of her bony body (except for her large and uncomfortable looking belly).

I walked over to her and cooed words of comfort and love as I scratched behind her ears.

She purred immediately.

I stroked her fur and tried to tempt her with the treats she had decided, only a few days ago, were her only food of choice.

But like yesterday, she was totally uninterested in eating anymore…and it was the same with drinking; she had nourished herself with declining frequency over the past two weeks.

Then carefully she turned and slowly wobbled back into the bedroom.

I followed her, watching as she wiggled her lower body in an attempt to gather energy for the two-foot leap to the top of the bed.

She barely made it.

Finally she nestled herself into a comfortable belly position atop her favorite plush blanket, the soothing hot water bottle underneath giving comfort to her FIP infested body.

Oreo, our one-year-old little lady who used to have the softest fur I’ve ever felt, was dying…and there was nothing that could be done to save her.

Although I was thankful she showed no obvious signs of pain, I had to wonder about those eyes…had she made the difficult sojourn into the kitchen to show me she was now in pain? Was she asking for help? Was she seeking reassurance? Or was she saying goodbye?

Decision time—Do I take her to the vet or SPCA…and end her life as they suggested? Or do I let her die at home?

All I know is…she deserves dignity, respect, comfort and peace.

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James