Henry was 9 when the vet first heard it.
A heart murmur.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a small, unsettling sound tucked inside the steady rhythm I thought I knew so well.
Henry is a senior Chinchilla Persian with the kind of face that looks permanently offended by the weather, the food bowl, the couch arrangement and most of my life choices. He had always been particular. Particular about food. Particular about where he slept. Particular about the exact angle of his water bowl.
So when he slowed down a little, I told myself he was just getting older.
When he drank more, I told myself it was probably the weather.
When his coat lost some of its silver shine, I blamed age, grooming, anything except what was quietly happening inside him.
Then came the blood pressure reading.
It was high.
And suddenly, the vet’s expression changed.
That was the moment Henry stopped being “just a senior cat” and became a cat I needed to watch more closely.
Then the vet said the sentence I could not stop hearing:
“This could increase his risk of chronic kidney disease.”
CKD.
Chronic Kidney Disease.