I waited months to bring my Beatrix home. For years I begged my husband to let me breed Maine Coons, and when he finally agreed I began researching breeders. Most breeders in the United States will not release breeding rights, so I found a recommended breeder in Russia. When I placed my deposit on my sweet baby Beatrix, I fell in love with her and we hadn't even met. She flew all the way from Russia, and I was expecting her to be very nervous and shy. When I opened up her crate at the airport, she jumped right into my arms and purred. She was happy to be out of her crate, and I cried tears of joy that she was finally here. Safe and sound and healthy, or so we thought.
Beatrix flew with Sullivan, a male from the same breeder, and immediately we noticed the size difference between them. I chalked it up to age difference, gave her canned food and chicken, but as Sully nearly doubled his weight in a matter of weeks, she barely put any weight on.
In the beginning of July, Beatrix became more sluggish, and I noticed her struggling to breathe. The vet diagnosed bronchitis, and after 10 days on antibiotics she got worse. The vet drained fluid from her little lungs, sent the fluid off to the lab, and we anxiously waited for results. The morning of July 15 the vet called. The sun was shining through my bedroom window, everything was calm and quiet. I had hoped and prayed for this to be something curable. There was no way I could prepare myself for the terrible news. When the vet told me I should sit down for the results I knew in my heart the results would not be what I asked and prayed for. My sweet girl, our "little weasel", was diagnosed with FIP. Those three little letters meant absolutely nothing to me before, and changed everything.