The moment I saw her, my stomach tightened. She was the most heavily pregnant cat I’d ever encountered, her frail body barely supporting the weight of her swollen belly. Gently, I prepared her for the ultrasound, hoping to determine if her kittens were still viable. But as the image appeared on the screen, I recoiled in horror. “Oh my God,” I gasped, my voice shaking.
When I first saw her at the shelter, she looked absolutely terrified. Her eyes locked onto mine, and I swear I felt a connection. “Hey there, girl,” I whispered softly, hoping to calm her down. She seemed to understand, giving a small meow. The shelter worker came over, saying, “She was dropped off overnight, poor thing. No info on her at all.”
With all the gentleness I could muster, I lifted her into the examination room. “It’s okay, sweetie,” I murmured, stroking her fur to keep her calm. She let out a weak purr, which was a tad reassuring. “Let’s see what’s going on with you,” I said softly, trying to sound more confident than I felt. I needed to know what was happening with this poor cat.