Anniversary
Jun. 17th, 2012 10:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladyspriteAbout 50 weeks ago, give or take, a half-pound of trouble came into my life.
She was two weeks old, brain-damaged, malnourished, and between the seizures, the hole in her skull, and her general level of debilitation and damage, I figured I was taking on a lost cause. I brought her home, with the understanding that I was opening up my heart and my life to something that would, ultimately, cause me nothing but pain at its inevitable loss.
And somehow, she failed to die. And there was a month or more of bottle feeding and daily bathing, and more months of tearing my hair out at her inability to learn to use the litterbox, or avoid getting lost in the dining room. There was near-death at the hands of an incompetent vet tech. There were semi-permanent changes to the structure of our house, and the transformation of our office into a nursery.
She's a year old, today. I never expected her to make it past a month. And then I never expected her to make it past six months. She's proved me wrong every time.
She still weighs four pounds; I doubt she'll ever get bigger. As far as I can tell, she'll never master dry food, or grooming; we've learned to just tie a bib on her whenever she eats. She still hasn't figured out to climb stairs or jump onto the couch, though she can scale four-foot fences with ease. She's never gone into heat, and I'm praying she never does, because the thought of putting her under anesthesia terrifies me. But, for better or for worse, it looks like she's sticking around for the long haul.
So today we had a birthday party for her. Because, overcoming the odds that she has, she deserves to be celebrated.
Can you believe they actually make party hats in her size?
Sitting at the table like a big girl....
With her birthday cake
And on the sofa with Percy, who deserves some spotlight time, and credit for putting up with the dimwitted interloper in his life.
Happy birthday, Miss Moxie. I'm glad you decided to stay.
She was two weeks old, brain-damaged, malnourished, and between the seizures, the hole in her skull, and her general level of debilitation and damage, I figured I was taking on a lost cause. I brought her home, with the understanding that I was opening up my heart and my life to something that would, ultimately, cause me nothing but pain at its inevitable loss.
And somehow, she failed to die. And there was a month or more of bottle feeding and daily bathing, and more months of tearing my hair out at her inability to learn to use the litterbox, or avoid getting lost in the dining room. There was near-death at the hands of an incompetent vet tech. There were semi-permanent changes to the structure of our house, and the transformation of our office into a nursery.
She's a year old, today. I never expected her to make it past a month. And then I never expected her to make it past six months. She's proved me wrong every time.
She still weighs four pounds; I doubt she'll ever get bigger. As far as I can tell, she'll never master dry food, or grooming; we've learned to just tie a bib on her whenever she eats. She still hasn't figured out to climb stairs or jump onto the couch, though she can scale four-foot fences with ease. She's never gone into heat, and I'm praying she never does, because the thought of putting her under anesthesia terrifies me. But, for better or for worse, it looks like she's sticking around for the long haul.
So today we had a birthday party for her. Because, overcoming the odds that she has, she deserves to be celebrated.
Can you believe they actually make party hats in her size?
Sitting at the table like a big girl....
With her birthday cake
And on the sofa with Percy, who deserves some spotlight time, and credit for putting up with the dimwitted interloper in his life.
Happy birthday, Miss Moxie. I'm glad you decided to stay.
