Tagg and Shilo came to us in September, small Maine Coon mix cats. Their people had moved and left them behind. A neighbor contacted the rescue group and they were brought from Missouri. With about a bizillion fleas each.
They got healthier and remembered how to play. Shilo got cuter and perkier and even started to rush the big boys, scratching when she finished like a teeny tiny bull. Tagg got sleeker and bigger and loved to run up our stone stair wall to bat at me from the top. 
Sometimes he paused on the hitching post. He never missed a chance to rub my hand in thanks whenever I put down his food dish. He was just starting to learn to target.
We live in a canyon. In December, the sun dips below the mountain ridge for 40 days, our Shadowtime. Everyone seems to eat less and sleep more, to hibernate a little. Tagg seemed to be doing that too, until I noticed he was losing weight. We bounced back and forth between vets over the holidays but he got sicker and sicker. Finally, they tested for Feline Infectious Peritonitis, with the results expected in 2 days. We made one last try at the emergency vet, hoping his immune system would kick in and that the test would be negative. He responded with more suffering. We had him put to sleep January 2nd. The test was positive.
Conventional thought about FIP is that it is highly contagious and virtually untreatable. But it’s a tricky disease: born of a benign gut virus that most cats seem to have, it mutates into the killer form seemingly randomly. Stress and poor nutrition are big factors. It masquerades with other symptoms so it’s hard to diagnose. Some cats get it; some don’t. All our cats were exposed to Tagg. We can only keep them healthy and happy and pray they’re in the group that doesn’t.
Bye Taggimundo.
