We brought Truffle home when he was nine months old — a chocolate-brown Exotic Shorthair with a squishy face and the calmest disposition you've ever met. He was chill. Honestly, too chill — the kind of quiet that makes your stomach knot. My wife is a veterinary technician who specializes in feline medicine, so she knew the signs — and she suspected something serious before anyone else did. We took him in to the vet, who examined him, ran his bloodwork, and delivered the diagnosis: a mass in his abdomen, and FIP — feline infectious peritonitis — once a death sentence for cats.
By then Truffle had stopped eating entirely. We started treatment right away — and within days, our boy came back to us.
Eating, getting up, exploring the house again, even braving the dogs because he finally felt good. Truffle beat FIP.
