I went to bed early; the ordeal just exhausted me, but I didn't sleep well and finally gave up at 4:30 AM and got up. Thought I might sleep in this morning but no luck. This thing is haunting me. I have a sick feeling that Buddy wasn't FeLV at all. I think that they rushed his neutering and that he died on the operating table. I have nothing to base it on, just instinct. They don't do intake on Fridays, they were squeezing me in as a favor. Four years ago, when I was finishing rescue and moving into this house, I still had several cats to alter and place and one of them, Sox, died while being spayed. The vet was very cold about it all; she called me and I thought she was going to tell me when I could pick Sox up but instead she said "Your cat died". Period. Boom. It turned out that Sox had a URI and she knew it but did the surgery anyhow. I didn't know it; she wasn't sniffly or anything or I wouldn't have taken the chance. I know that some vets do what they call Good Samaritan work but some resent it and she was one of them. I never went to her again. I just have the feeling deep in my gut that's what happened to Buddy. This isn't to disparage vets; God knows I love mine, even if I do have issues w/the staff on occasion. Buddy just looked and acted too darned healthy and I feel a big gaping hole in this house. It was made ready for him. I was even prepared for pee wars w/my males but this boy softened my heart to the point where I thought "Hmmm, Pidge isn't gonna like having Buddy in bed w/us but he's such a snuggler that I can't resist him". This whole thing just isn't sitting right w/me.