I'm still trying to process the emotions that come flooding back whenever I think about my beloved cat, Yustas. Writing this review has been tough, but I feel like I need to share my story in the hopes that it might help someone avoid the pain that my family and I went through.
It all started in 2011 when we finally got our own place and were doing some renovations. My husband got sick and had to undergo surgery, which left him with a fully casted leg and stuck at home for months. I was working full-time, and he was alone, with no one to talk to since our friends had all moved away after university.
Recovery from an operation like that takes around 6-7 months, and I knew that this was the perfect time to bring a kitten into our lives. I found an ad and went to pick up our new furry friend.
Our little guy was massive - I took him home at 1.5 months, and he looked like a 3-month-old cat already! His dad was enormous, weighing in at 10 kilograms and measuring 90 centimeters in length, not including his tail.
We named our little bundle of joy Yustas - I'd just read an Agatha Christie story and was inspired by the character's name.
Yustas picked up using the litter box in no time, within two days, actually. He's an incredibly smart cat with a very expressive face and the fluffiest coat.
Here he is at 2.5 months:
Our kitten's eyes were blue for up to two months, then turned green by four months, and eventually became amber by the time he was a year old.
Yustas was a calm, intelligent, and affectionate companion, but he was extremely aggressive towards guests and terrified of the vacuum cleaner. I'd try to cover him with a blanket or move him away from the area before cleaning.
He was neutered at eight months, and although he didn't pee in the corners, he would cry pretty loudly.
Here he is at three years old:
And here he is now, at five years old:
Our cat grew into a massive size:
We loved him dearly and were proud of him. He'd always greet us at home and snuggle up with us. Sometimes, he'd jump onto our bed, push the pillow aside, and snuggle up with us instead. When he was around, all our problems seemed smaller because I knew I'd get a warm hug from my gentle, meowing companion.
The downsides:
One major downside was that our cat was a walking fur factory. There was fur everywhere: on the walls, furniture, in every nook and cranny, and even on our clothes. Cleaning and vacuuming daily was a must, or we'd be overwhelmed. Without a lint roller, we couldn't keep our clothes in order before heading out. This is a characteristic of the breed, and our cat was particularly large, so we just rolled with it.
Another issue was that our cat would become a whole different animal when the vacuum was on or when guests came over. I've noticed a huge increase in aggression, which was never a problem before. Every few months, I'd have to clean it thoroughly because it would leave its fur all over my coat and sometimes it would even get tangled on the balcony railing. To be honest, it was a real challenge to clean such a large area, and if I didn't clean it regularly, it would start to smell. And the worst part is, when I tried to clean it, it ended up causing me a lot of pain. It ripped my jacket, tore my leg and shoulder, and left me covered in blood.
When my friends with kids came over, it thought they were a threat - even a 7-year-old kid is almost as big as it is, and it would hiss and growl at them. I had to intervene and calm it down.
The final issue was its health, and let me tell you, it was a complete nightmare.
Our cat was perfectly healthy until it was 6 years old, and then one night, it woke me up screaming. It never made a peep when we were sleeping, and I rushed to its side.
It had paralyzed legs, was terrified, and screaming. It fell asleep in a chair, but when it woke up, it couldn't move its legs. We called the vet right away.
The vet came over and said it was the fifth British Shorthair he'd seen in three days with a similar condition. Our cat had had a stroke. He prescribed treatment and injections, but warned us that the chances of recovery were slim. I was devastated, but I decided to fight for it.
I called the vet every day to report on my cat's progress, set up IVs, gave it enemas, and followed the treatment plan. The cat was lying on a blanket next to my bed, and I'd watch it for any sign of movement, change its blanket, and massage its paws. I became its primary caregiver, sacrificing sleep and devoting all my attention to it. Two days later, all five cats that the vet had seen were dead. The causes of death were two strokes, two respiratory failures, and one heart failure. The cats were between 2 and 3 years old. The vet was hesitant to give us any hope.
The cat lost its appetite and stopped drinking after two days. I learned how to feed it through a syringe with a physical solution and glucose, as prescribed by the vet.
Then, for six days, everything seemed stable.
I'll never forget the 7 days I spent with my cat, but it was a living nightmare. I called the vet, and things took a turn for the worse: my poor cat started coughing up fluid in its lungs. I rushed to the pharmacy, still on the phone with the vet, trying to do some makeshift CPR, but it was too late. Within 10 minutes, it was gone. The vet told me it was a multiple organ failure, and there was nothing that could be done.
I was heartbroken, and the vet's words of comfort didn't help much.
I started asking around, talking to friends and breeders, trying to understand what had gone wrong. I wanted to know if there was something specific about the breed that had led to this tragedy.
What I learned was shocking: this breed has a history of genetic heart problems and a predisposition to strokes. And because of irresponsible breeding practices, it's almost impossible to find a healthy cat. I've seen countless stories online of similar tragedies, so if you're thinking of getting a British breed, please, please, please make sure to check their health and keep a close eye on them.
It's been 7 months since my cat passed away, and I'm still grieving.
But 7 months later, I found a new breed that's changed my life. The Burmese breed has a strong constitution, a sharp mind, and a beautiful coat without undercoat. You can read more about my experience and see plenty of photos here.
Now, our Burmese cat is 7 months old, and it's helped fill the void left by my beloved Justas.
I'll never forget my little furball.