This is the sad part. After a couple years, we adopted another cat who tested positive for feline leukemia in an exam given a few weeks after taking her home. When our other cats were given new tests, we learned Gusto and one of our other cats had the virus, too. All of our cats had been tested when we got them so we will never know which of the ones that tested positive had brought it into the house. Something slipped through the cracks. What can you do?

We were told that one in three cats would die within a year of diagnosis. One-third might be a carrier of the virus but could live a normal, otherwise healthy life. One-third might kick the disease altogether. As it turned out, Gusto would be the one who showed symptoms of being sick later in the year; the main complication was anemia. We followed the advice of local veterinarians. We researched her illnesses online and tried alternative, organic remedies. We started to figure out which treatments helped her better than others. When her health rallied, we had hopes that she could recover and get well again for good. Her eyes were brighter, she had more energy. Then very suddenly at the end of Fall, she looked lethargic and disinterested in eating. A couple days later, we woke up to find her wheezing, and we rushed her into the vet.

The anemia had returned, so the vet sent us over to an ER clinic for a possible blood transfusion. Gusto was hooked to an oxygen tank and given fluids while X-rays and tests were run to determine what else might have been making her sick and whether it was advisable to go through with the transfusions. The doctor told us that a transfusion might help her feel better for four to six weeks, but then she would probably need another transfusion to keep the anemia at bay. We decided we owed her at least that much of a fighting chance, even if it only gave her another month. We weren't ready to say goodbye. However, the X-rays showed that her lungs were filled with fluid from the spreading cancer and her vital organs were significantly enlarged. The doctor felt pessimistic about the chances of a transfusion succeeding, and recommended that we end her suffering by putting her to sleep then. Seeing the X-rays, we agreed to take her advice. It was terribly heartbreaking, but just about one year after she had been diagnosed with the feline leukemia virus, we let her go.

One comfort we could feel was in knowing that we did our best to care for her and help her feel well for as long as possible, and we felt glad that we had been fortunate to make decisions about her medical treatment based on what could help her recovery rather than being forced into a decision because of cost. For most of the last year after her diagnosis, she was bright and active, doing what she wanted to do. She was still Gusto in every sense. For the 4 years she had here on earth, she lived life to the fullest. We want to help other cats with special needs get the same kind of chance. That is the hope of our foundation, established in memory of our beloved Gusto.

even through an interior window to the porch which was just low enough for her to clear. If she ever stumbled or fell, which was often, she carried on forward as if nothing had happened. She took on our alpha cat, though he was about three times her size, wrestling with him as well as the other male cat in the house, and pushing him away from his food bowl. She had a supreme confidence about herself, and did everything with 100% energy. She lived life to the fullest. She was the embodiment of the name we gave her: Gusto.

about it if she only knew our language. Gusto was aware of everything, and curious about it all. She wanted to know about anything that happened in the house; if she heard a noise, she'd dash out to investigate. Wherever there was activity, she wanted to be there-in the middle, or by someone's side watching closely. She loved to spend the morning or afternoon in window seats, her hind sitting on the pillow with her front paws resting on the sill like an eager student with her hands folded on top of her desk, watching birds and squirrels or anything else she might see in the world outside.

We changed her name soon after taking her home. We felt it wasn't right to label her with a name which called attention to her disability; especially since she herself hardly gave a moment's thought about her handicap. She charged all through the house at full speed, up and down stairs, around corners, over sofas, and