Baggy polished off three-quarters of a bottle of wine last night, in an attempt to numb Furry Mama's dread about little Hinge. As a result, she was sozzled and in bed by 8.15pm. Clever Bird's theory being that she would sleep - which worked; and when she's asleep she can't worry - which didn't work, as she had back to back nightmares and kept waking up in tears. Furry Mama tried to get Hinge to sleep with her, but she wouldn't even purr, and shot off as soon as she got a chance. Bracket is constantly with her, as though she's protecting her. Even Pepper keeps going and laying with her. It's breaking Baggy's heart.
Pepper woke Baggy at 7.30am, and Freda Fretter couldn't decide if she was happy or sad that little Hinge was still alive. But when she head-butted Furry Mama's leg and started purring, as Baggy was sitting on the loo, she decided to be happy and positive.
It was a different vet. The one that saw Pepper, who as Pepper was with Furry Mama, instantly assumed that she had misread the notes and it was he who needed the x-rays.
Blood results: raised calcium levels, which is a sign that there might be a tumour.
'So, does that mean it's not AIDS or Leukaemia?'
'Yes, but that doesn't necessarily mean that it's good news.' Maybe not for Hinge, Furry Mama understood, but definitely good news for Bracket.
Half an hour later, Furry Mama and the vet had agreed to give Hinge a chance. Furry Mama told the little one how much she and Calum loved her, and left her for sedation and x-rays. Furry Mama told the concerned vet that she shouldn't be too upset if the sedative killed Hinge, as clearly it wasn't meant to be.
In floods of tears, Baggy phoned Calum, then drove Furry Mama and the pooch to Dunwich Heath exercise and bracing air. Home again, Creative Clara started to write this blog, figuring that it was nearly one, and no news was good news.
The phone rang. It wasn't good news. 'We sedated Hinge, and before we even got as far as the x-rays, we found a large tumour in her throat.....' Baggy didn't hear anything else, until, 'The kindest thing now would be to put her to sleep.'
'Of course,' stammered Furry Mama.
'Would you want to be with her?'
'Yes. I'll be there in ten minutes.'
So, even though it broke her heart, Furry Mama held the beautiful Hinge in her arms, as she went to join Minty Mutt in Heaven.
Truth be told, Psychic Ploppo knew that Hinge wouldn't be coming home today, when this morning, she finally got around to opening a pot of pebbles that finished polishing over two weeks ago, and found this one! Sorry about the appalling photo, Clara can't focus either, but trust Baggy when she tells you Baggees, that it is the Hinge!
When Minty Mutt had to be put to sleep, that night, in the pitch black on Southwold beach, Psychic Ploppo picked up 'his' pebble.........
Baggy, (stupidly, she knows), is currently finishing off the bottle of wine. Furry Mama has a depressed pooch and cat on her hands, and poor Calum is working, so she's truly not handling this well.
Rest in Peace Hinge, you are an amazingly special pussy cat, Minty Mutt will look after you.........
Note to readers (my lovely Baggees): For the avoidance of any doubt - every character in this blog is me!!! No Baggy was harmed in its writing.
Baggy's daily state!
Depression (Black = really bad/Grey = not great/Blue = okay/Yellow = sunny day): Grey.
Anxiety (From 1 = barely any to 10 = gibbering wreck standard): 9.
Tears: Even more copious amounts.
Baggy: 210.
No comments:
Post a Comment