Like so many cat parents say, it caught me completely by surprise.
Winter was our family’s much loved cat since he first came into our lives in 2008. He was one of a litter from a friend of ours, and given his coloring we determined him to be a Russian Blue. We named him Winter because he was dark grey with white paws, like he had been walking through snow.
He loved to play with toys and chase laser pointers up and down walls. He’d make impossible jumps from the floor to the top of our refrigerator. Winter had a close connection with the whole family, sleeping in my bed or in my sister’s room or laying between us on the couch as we watched TV. Through the years though, he spent more and more time in my company. So, when I moved out of my parents house I decided to bring Winter with me. After a brief adjustment period he felt right at home and was back to running around chasing laser pointers again.
He was a healthy cat. Over the many years of having Winter I never needed to take him in to the vet for anything immediately serious. The only times were for teeth cleanings and an irritated eye, both of which I was able to manage from home afterwards. I would brush his teeth, with much struggle, and give him a couple eye drops. I knew how old he was getting but it never bothered me because I could see how lively and normal he was.
Then one day, out of the blue, in the span of 12 hours I knew that there was something going on inside of him that was not good. All of a sudden he stopped eating, drinking, or using the litter box. This had never happened before and I didn’t know what to think of it. I was able to get him to drink a little water and eat some treats slowly, but I could tell he wasn’t fully himself. He hid underneath my bed in the far corner, something I noted dogs do when they know it’s their time to go. I rushed him to an emergency vet center. Even though this was serious, I wasn’t too scared about it. Every time I’d taken him to the vet in the past they would give him a shot/ eye drops/teeth cleaning/medication and he’d be back to normal.
We arrived at the hospital around 11:30pm. I handed Winter off to the nurse and waited in my car. Minutes turned to hours. I took naps and would be awoken to phone calls from the nurses asking me to virtually sign documents and make payments, then I’d go back to sleep. Finally around 4am I received a call from the doctor. He told me that Winter had chronic kidney disease (CKD) and that his condition is “guarded”, which meant without treatment his condition would not improve. The words didn’t quite process with me, given how tired and sore I was from sleeping in the car, but I knew without a doubt that he should be treated. They kept him over night and told me they would give me a report on his condition the next day.
They gave him fluids and told me that he was starting to eat and drink more which seemed like a great sign. But after a few hours of not hearing any updates, I received a call that, even now, I never thought I would get. 
They told me that Winter’s condition was too far advanced for him to get any better. If they stopped giving him fluids he would get worse and die. If I brought him home he would live a couple more days, but would be in immense pain. I knew the impossible decision I had to make.
I went to the hospital with my family, to see Winter one last time. I held him while everyone petted him. I tried not to think about the IV in his front leg. He was looking at us and all around with such energy that I couldn’t help think that he was still a normal cat, that maybe this was all wrong somehow. The doctor gave me as much time as I needed, but it would never be enough. Eventually it was just me and my sister in the room, trying to muster the strength to call in the doctor. Finally, after minutes that felt too short, it was time to let Winter go. The doctor injected the fluid from the syringe into his IV, and he slowly laid down. Winter was looking at me as I watched his eyes gently drift and close. He just looked like he was sleeping. My sister and I stayed in the room with him for a long time. I didn’t have the courage to step back through the door into a world without him. My sister helped calm me as we said our final goodbyes and left.
When I hear stories of other people’s experiences with CKD, I start to think about all the times when there were signs but I just didn’t realize it. Cats are extremely good at hiding their symptoms, and this was very much the case for Winter. I felt like I had failed him. I was his caretaker and the person that was supposed to help him get better when he was sick, but I couldn’t fix this.
I dream of a world where we have a solution for feline CKD.
Winter deserved more time. Every cat does. That’s why research matters—because every breakthrough brings us one step closer to a future where chronic kidney disease no longer steals the years our cats should have.
Every breakthrough begins with research. Your gift to EveryCat’s 2026 Cures4Cats campaign helps fund innovative studies that are advancing the future of feline chronic kidney disease care—giving hope to cats and the families who love them.
Actor/director Joey Luthman is passionate about raising funds for feline health research, specifically feline kidney and cancer research. Known for his work in shows like General Hospital, Modern Family, and Weeds, Joey set out last year with his friends (and support team!) Dylan and Allisyn Snyder, to raise $1 million for cat health research. His first project was riding a one-wheel from the Santa Monica Pier in California to the Marshall Point Lighthouse in Maine in the fall of 2025. Joey’s next event will be September 19th, 2026, when he will attempt to break the world record for the most consecutive Pogo Stick jumps with no hands! To learn more about Joey, visit his Instagram page, Facebook page or CatMan-a Documentary.