bye, bye, blackie

I woke up today and like a lazy ass, I didn't bother to get out of bed until about 11 a.m.

When I did, I went hopefully to the mouse cage. After a leisurely shower, which I now somewhat regret.

I was even thinking, as I washed my hair, that maybe I should call the vet, now that Blackie (my mouse) was seemingly getting better, and see if they could change the antibiotics from po (by mouth) to IM, or SQ, or whatever the heck it is they give to something that weighs slightly more than the supposed weight of a human soul (didn't you see "21 Grams"?)

Maybe I should have taken Blackie's refusal to take her meds these last few times for what it what: 'Dude, I know I'm dying, get over it, you big stupid human, and stop trying to feed me this pink gooey shit out of a dropper.' But she seemed to be eating more, and a little more active, and I was stupidly hopeful that she'd do one of those Miracle Mouse Recoveries.

Alas.

Blackie 'waited' long enough for me to amble over the cage, notice she was breathing in a close-to-death, horrible sort of way, and dragging her left side around in a panic. She was gasping, miserably, and looked at me.

I understood she was dying, and I knew it was probably too late to ask for proper help.

I picked her up, thinking crazy thoughts about mouse CPR and intubation, and how did secure the airways of rodents the size of chicken eggs, any way?

I called the vet.

Less than five minutes later, I knew she wasn't gonna make it to the vet. So, in vain desperation, I called to ask if I could bring her in now.

Just as the the receptionist said, 'Sure, bring her in, dear." I knew it was too late, and I told the receptionist so. The mouse died as I hung up the phone.

I don't know. It was pretty horrible, because she went the same route as my adopted rabbit Mookie did last year.

In fact, Mookie died on October 16.

Other Pets of Jamie, take head: October is turning out to be a historically crappy month in this household for Unfortunate Pet Expirations.

I didn't think I was gonna cry over a pet that cost less than a gallon of gas, even adjusted for inflation.

But, I did.

Then, I took Piper to the vet for his annual check up (I learned today they check a dog's prostate in the same way the check a human male's prostate. Eew).

I just about cried when I saw the bill for his vet exam, but those tears were (almost) shed for a different reasons, namely, my poor wallet.