Today, while I was in Marbella, visiting tenant in the home, I got a call from middle sister informing me that Chaos, my Gorgeous, was completely bloated in the gut and that she was bringing him to the vet. I sped there as fast as I could, got stuck behind a big loader, a CAT, but did make it in forty minutes. At first it seemed not so bad, just a case of overeating (he did love eating really badly)because nothing was really visible on the x-ray. So the vet tried a catheter, to get him to vomit, no luck, so she would have to crack him open, meaning it was decision time.
I hate decision time, in particular when it comes to the Gorgeous. A life of eating several tiny meals a day while he can barely stand eating less than his usual masses. Him going through a heavy operation that has a relatively big chance of failing. Then having to stay at the vet for at least five days. The last time I tried that with him he almost perished from being in a cage and away from me. Added to that, I wouldn't be able to visit him twice a day, not with all the messes going on. And then, two days after he gets home, I'd have to leave him home while I travel out of the country for five days. What with big brother having to work those days, and little sister, too, the care of him would be a tremendous burden on grandpa and middle sister, not to mention that he would be sleeping alone in my cabin, because he would refuse to sleep anywhere else.
It wasn't really a choice, but for a moment I wanted to just be that selfish and just go for it, regardless of the consequences.
As it is, the Chaos is no more...but he was loved.
