The Deal I Made with God - by Patricia Williams
September 8, 2012 was a beautiful sunny day. I had worked at my job as a hairstylist that day, and when I got home, I fed all the kitties and doggies, and everything was good. My husband Scott and I went out to eat, then enjoyed watching a movie at home. As was my custom, I said good night to all the fur babies before going to bed, but that particular night I couldn’t find our new rescue kitten, Seth, whom we’d adopted this past April. Someone found him wandering alone when he was only a few weeks old. He was very small and playful, all in all a very loving little boy. After a purposeful search I finally found him in a dark corner, under the bed in our spare bedroom, which was very abnormal behavior for Seth, who is a very social kitten. No matter how much I tried to coax him out of his hiding place, he wouldn’t come. In the end, I had to gently pull him out only to find that he was walking oddly and couldn’t hold up his head. But even after I pulled him out, he just kept going back under the bed. I tried holding him but all he did was cry. I stayed with him and held him for a while. By 2 A.M. he would do nothing but lie flat on the floor with his limbs outstretched, something I had never seen before. It was very strange. I was so worried I decided to take him to the emergency vet clinic, where they did a physical exam and some diagnostic testing. Unfortunately, his blood protein levels were consistent with Feline Infectious Peritonitis, also known as F.I.P. Though the vet wasn’t 100% certain of the diagnosis, given his age, behavior and protein findings, F.I.P. was very likely. In other words, it was a death sentence! The next day I took him to my vet and she agreed with the emergency vet’s diagnosis. I also shared the information with another vet who also agreed. I couldn’t risk the health of the others, so Scott built a wall down the middle of our sunroom, and made it into two rooms so I could isolate Seth. The vet wrote him a prescription for Prednisolone and antibiotics to see if they would make a difference. It worked, and he immediately began to feel better. I didn’t want him to spend all his time alone, so we put a daybed in his room so I could sleep there as well. During that time, I constantly prayed for a miracle healing. All three vets had said he didn’t have much time, and that I needed to prepare for that eventuality. In my desperation I made a deal with God—to save my baby, and in exchange I would do whatever He wanted me to do. To that end, I kept praying and Seth continued to improve. Shortly afterward, I took him back to the vet for blood work and a catalyst test. I could hardly believe it, when they said all the tests were negative. It was truly a miracle! God answered my prayer and let him live!