Meet Pacho

Age: 4 months

Breed: Domestic short hair

Diagnosis: Effusive (wet) form

Today Panchito is 10 months old, and we can proudly say he is a FIP survivor.

We adopted him when he was just two months old. After a few weeks of love and care, we noticed he wasn’t thriving as kittens usually do. Our first visit to the vet, for what seemed like simple diarrhoea, led to an antibiotic treatment. A few days later, I brought him back with a swollen belly. The second veterinarian was good at identifying FIP but didn’t explain much about possible treatment options — she only mentioned it was costly — and told me to take him home and wait until euthanasia was necessary. I asked about palliative care, hoping to at least make him comfortable, but she said there wasn’t much to be done. I left the clinic with my little boy in my arms, feeling completely helpless and heartbroken.

That night, I couldn’t accept that there was nothing to do. I spent hours reading, searching, learning — and I discovered that there were antiviral treatments that could actually save cats with FIP. The next morning, I called the clinic and begged them to order the medication immediately. But the vet insisted we had to wait for the PCR test results, even though I had learned they weren’t always accurate and could take days to come back. I also knew that the swelling belly would continue growing and could cause respiratory failure within days.

Knowing that time was critical, I asked to see another practitioner. The clinic owner kindly agreed to take over the case. It was her first experience treating FIP, but she was open-minded and willing to try. We started Pancho’s treatment as soon as the medication arrived — it was the weekend, and the vet was still recovering from shoulder surgery (bless her). After three painful days of injections, Pancho began to show signs of improvement.

We then continued with antivirals twice a day — every single morning and afternoon — for twelve long weeks. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth every moment. Slowly, he regained his strength. His energy returned, his eyes brightened, and that playful, loving boy came back to life.

During those weeks, we even had to travel — and our wonderful pet sitter, Irene, stepped in to help. She gave Pancho his medication and cared for him with such dedication that I’ll be forever grateful. He has now completed his treatment and another twelve weeks of observation to ensure there were no signs of relapse.

Now, when I see Pancho healthy, cheeky, inquisitive, and proudly ruling our home, I know that if I had followed that first vet’s advice, he wouldn’t be here.

He survived because I refused to give up, because I trusted my own judgment, and because people like Mao and Irene helped along the way. Pancho’s story is a reminder: never stop asking questions, and never lose hope — sometimes, love and persistence make all the difference.