In October 2012, Djet came into my life as a tiny, neglected, malnourished kitten rescued from a hoarding situation along with almost twenty other cats and kittens. I was asked to treat him with medicine while the shelter vet would be away on holiday in Kenya for ten days. Djet was very thin, mostly he was just fluffy fur and bones; the vet warned me Djet might not survive despite our efforts to save him. He was so quiet and still, trembling and weaving a little as he tried to sit up. It was heartbreaking. I agreed to help out and took him home along with Neh'h, the cat I had gone in to adopt. I settled them into the washroom for them to have as their safe space until they could be introduced to my own two British Shorthairs. Djet immediately latched onto Neh'h, who, in turn became very fond of Djet as well.

For two weeks I regularly treated little Djet with his minute doses of medicine around the clock. I bought special food from the vet clinic to help him gain nourishment and slowly, gently, coaxed him into gaining a little weight. The vet came back and asked how Djet was doing, I said his recovery was slow but that I thought it might be best if I continued to foster him until December when he would be three months old and we would know if he would be well enough to be adopted.  The vet agreed it would be better for him to stay in one place and under my care, so it was settled.

Time passed, and soon Djet started to have enough energy to play. He loved his toys and would play quietly with them. Although it made me happy to see him playing, he didn't have the strength or energy to scamp and roam like other healthy kittens his age. I doted on him, and he became my little shadow, liking to sleep on my lap or in my arms. He was utterly lovely, an adorable, sweet, lovely baby.

When December rolled around, I couldn't bear to give him back to the shelter or part him from Neh'h who had become very attached to his little brother, so we officially adopted Djet as our own little boy. Djet experienced his first snowfall, trying to catch and eat snowflakes outside the back door, my heart melting as I watched him. He grew stronger, and played more, though he was always a quiet kitten, never mischievous or destructive. He spent a lot of time looking out the windows beside Neh'h, watching the snow fall, or gazing at the birds fluttering around the feeders.

In the spring once the snow melted, I allowed the cats outside to play. We have a big garden that borders on a meadow and wooded land. It's a paradise for cats. Once Djet was able to go outside he started to really gain his strength, he would run a little, and sometimes jump in the air just for the sheer joy of being alive. 

But then, in March, I noticed a tick on his neck. I removed it immediately, it was not remotely engorged, so I knew I had caught it early, but still, I had a bad feeling. A month went by and I forgot about the tick, Djet seemed fine. But then his fur started to look greasy. He started to lick the concrete. Something was wrong, I could feel it in my bones. I took him to a vet, they said nothing was wrong, and not to worry. Still uncertain, I said maybe he might have borrelia from the tick he had. I was told cats don't get borrelia and to stop worrying.

But Djet didn't get better. I went to another vet and insisted they test him for borrelia. They discovered he had a very high titre of borrelia in his blood. They said they couldn't understand it since borrelia is very rare in cats, usually they have an immunity to it. The vets sent me to another vet an hour and half drive's away who could give Djet a blood transfusion.

He had the transfusion, and he got better, but then he got sick again. We went back to the vet who had given the transfusion and she diagnosed him with hepatic lipidosis. For the next month I fought with all my might to save him until we found out he also had wet FIP, a completely fatal disease.  

To this day I ask myself what if he had not been bitten by that tick, would he still be alive? The vets all tell me 'no', that it would only be a matter of time before something else would have taken him away prematurely. They said the FIP would have been with him since his unfortunate birth and was a ticking bomb just waiting to go off at the least provocation.

My heart broke the day Djet had to be put to sleep. I still miss him. He was a wonderful, perfect baby, his life far, far too short. All the way to the end he suffered his illness quietly, never complaining, like an old soul, as though he already knew the fight was over. I hope wherever he is he is happy and free, and there are plenty of big, fat snowflakes to catch and eat.