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May. 29th, 2004 07:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cabbitzillaYesterday was supposed to be a good day. For all our battles, Megan and I have been married for six years tomorrow; we'd been given a gift card for the Red Lobster large enough for us both to be able to eat well. When I woke up, I spent twenty minutes playing with Kweepie and cleaning his cage. Everything was completely normal; he was even more animated than normal, playing tug-o-war with me over the towel that laid over the edge of his open cage door.
I had a doctor's appointment; the monthly visit to the rheumatologist, and the Annapolis Red Lobster was only ten minutes from there. In spite of elevated pain levels, my mood was fairly decent. The appointment went well, and the food was delicious. We were gone a total of six hours; there were errands that needed running, and a dozen or so stops.
When we got home, I checked on both of Megan's piggies, and then went in to play with Kweepie a bit more. He still seemd fine - animated and wheeking happily at me and schmoozing for treats. And I err'd... everything seemed completely normal; I didn't notice that there were no poos anywhere among his bedding. I settled in behind my desk, and roamed Gaia for a bit, still in good spirits. About an hour later, maybe a bit more, Megan stopped in my room on her way back from the bathroom, and found Kweepie hunched up against one side of his cage and called me immediately.
His health has been checkered over the last eight months, but the last week or so he'd been back to his old bouncy perky self. But this was bad... with my attention focused on figuring what was wrong, then I noticed the lack of poos. It's not uncommon for cavy boars to start losing muscle tone in their butts; it can lead to impaction and can be very dangerous. I spent a good ten minutes gently clearing the impaction with mineral oil and cue tips... the method advocated by the leading cavy specialists in the world.
It seemed to brighten his mood a tiny bit (after I quit poking him in the butt with a cue tip)... but I was still worried. I brought him out here to my desk a couple hours earlier than normal; he's been spending the late evenings out here curled up against my arm for most of the last six months. I kept an eye on him, growing more and more worried when he didn't improve. I tried desperately to reach a couple of known cavy authorities, trying to find out what to do... and then I heard the gasp from him.
The same gasp that Ollie made 20 minutes before he died in my arms. I panicked. With Megan howling protests, I scooped him up in my arms without bothering with the small travel cage and bolted for the Saturn. I'd hit 60 before I'd even cleared the neighborhood. I'd been kicking myself for forever over not reacting fast enough to save Ollie...
I was a block from the emergency vet when he struggled up to lick my cheek and then simply... stopped. I yanked the wheel of the car over hard, vaulting the median strip and bouncing to a stop in the vet's parking lot... and discovered that he was already gone before I could get the door open.
Some folks understand my living environment here. Megan and I are nominally friends, but there's a very definite edge to it that leads more often than not into top-of-the-lungs verbal warfare. The nearest close friend is almost twenty minutes away. I'm ... isolated and alone, here. Kweepie has be...was one of my very dearest friends. No matter how rough I felt, he kept me going. He depended on me, and I loved him dearly. He was never stinting with his affections; before the spinal infection limited his mobility, he'd often spend parts of the day on my shoulder, riding around the house as I took care of laundry and such.
He was my pal, my playmate, and one of the precious few beings that loved me unconditionally. I've walked four mile round trips for food or bedding for him on days when I wouldn't even get up to get a drink of water until I was so parched I could barely breath. He was a steady anchor and focal point, one that required I stay partially in touch with reality. For the last three months or so, he's lived in my bedroom, a foot or so from where I sleep; his movements and noises were a comfort to me... and he never once complained about my snoring.
He's been laid to rest next to Ollie's grave... both of them visible from where I'm sitting right now. My bedroom is empty, silent, cold. The house feels hollow and alien... and I'm so numb I never noticed I'd slashed my hand open until the blood on the beer bottle got my attention. All of the sharp things have been put away... not because of any danger of me willfully using any of them to damage myself, but because I'm so numb that I wouldn't notice I'd wounded myself until I slipped and fell in the blood.
I'm cold. The food I bought has no taste. My precious sidekick has left me behind. Left me with another ghost to carry. I... am trying to keep myself busy... or at least distracted. I've a lot of very dear friends who've made it quite clear that I'm loved... that I'm not alone.
But it doesn't seem to help with the ice that's closing over me. Goodnight, Kweepie. Forgive me, please, for not acting sooner. I hope that you remember me when I'm finally allowed to join you... since that doesn't seem to be any time too soon. I packed your little stuffed mousie... don't forget and leave it behind. Try not to nip at Ollie's ears... you know he doesn't like that. Make sure you get enough vitamin C... and don't gorge yourself on apple wedges; you know they give you the runs. I love you. I miss you.
I had a doctor's appointment; the monthly visit to the rheumatologist, and the Annapolis Red Lobster was only ten minutes from there. In spite of elevated pain levels, my mood was fairly decent. The appointment went well, and the food was delicious. We were gone a total of six hours; there were errands that needed running, and a dozen or so stops.
When we got home, I checked on both of Megan's piggies, and then went in to play with Kweepie a bit more. He still seemd fine - animated and wheeking happily at me and schmoozing for treats. And I err'd... everything seemed completely normal; I didn't notice that there were no poos anywhere among his bedding. I settled in behind my desk, and roamed Gaia for a bit, still in good spirits. About an hour later, maybe a bit more, Megan stopped in my room on her way back from the bathroom, and found Kweepie hunched up against one side of his cage and called me immediately.
His health has been checkered over the last eight months, but the last week or so he'd been back to his old bouncy perky self. But this was bad... with my attention focused on figuring what was wrong, then I noticed the lack of poos. It's not uncommon for cavy boars to start losing muscle tone in their butts; it can lead to impaction and can be very dangerous. I spent a good ten minutes gently clearing the impaction with mineral oil and cue tips... the method advocated by the leading cavy specialists in the world.
It seemed to brighten his mood a tiny bit (after I quit poking him in the butt with a cue tip)... but I was still worried. I brought him out here to my desk a couple hours earlier than normal; he's been spending the late evenings out here curled up against my arm for most of the last six months. I kept an eye on him, growing more and more worried when he didn't improve. I tried desperately to reach a couple of known cavy authorities, trying to find out what to do... and then I heard the gasp from him.
The same gasp that Ollie made 20 minutes before he died in my arms. I panicked. With Megan howling protests, I scooped him up in my arms without bothering with the small travel cage and bolted for the Saturn. I'd hit 60 before I'd even cleared the neighborhood. I'd been kicking myself for forever over not reacting fast enough to save Ollie...
I was a block from the emergency vet when he struggled up to lick my cheek and then simply... stopped. I yanked the wheel of the car over hard, vaulting the median strip and bouncing to a stop in the vet's parking lot... and discovered that he was already gone before I could get the door open.
Some folks understand my living environment here. Megan and I are nominally friends, but there's a very definite edge to it that leads more often than not into top-of-the-lungs verbal warfare. The nearest close friend is almost twenty minutes away. I'm ... isolated and alone, here. Kweepie has be...was one of my very dearest friends. No matter how rough I felt, he kept me going. He depended on me, and I loved him dearly. He was never stinting with his affections; before the spinal infection limited his mobility, he'd often spend parts of the day on my shoulder, riding around the house as I took care of laundry and such.
He was my pal, my playmate, and one of the precious few beings that loved me unconditionally. I've walked four mile round trips for food or bedding for him on days when I wouldn't even get up to get a drink of water until I was so parched I could barely breath. He was a steady anchor and focal point, one that required I stay partially in touch with reality. For the last three months or so, he's lived in my bedroom, a foot or so from where I sleep; his movements and noises were a comfort to me... and he never once complained about my snoring.
He's been laid to rest next to Ollie's grave... both of them visible from where I'm sitting right now. My bedroom is empty, silent, cold. The house feels hollow and alien... and I'm so numb I never noticed I'd slashed my hand open until the blood on the beer bottle got my attention. All of the sharp things have been put away... not because of any danger of me willfully using any of them to damage myself, but because I'm so numb that I wouldn't notice I'd wounded myself until I slipped and fell in the blood.
I'm cold. The food I bought has no taste. My precious sidekick has left me behind. Left me with another ghost to carry. I... am trying to keep myself busy... or at least distracted. I've a lot of very dear friends who've made it quite clear that I'm loved... that I'm not alone.
But it doesn't seem to help with the ice that's closing over me. Goodnight, Kweepie. Forgive me, please, for not acting sooner. I hope that you remember me when I'm finally allowed to join you... since that doesn't seem to be any time too soon. I packed your little stuffed mousie... don't forget and leave it behind. Try not to nip at Ollie's ears... you know he doesn't like that. Make sure you get enough vitamin C... and don't gorge yourself on apple wedges; you know they give you the runs. I love you. I miss you.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-30 02:37 am (UTC)