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Tuesday, July 27, 2004
Anişoara's day at the Port Moody Animal Hospital turned up ovarian cancer. Dr. Siegert explained my three options:
1. Have Anişoara euthanized.
2. Have Anişoara spayed ($120). This might save her.
3. Allow Anişoara to bleed to death.
Dr. Siegert kindly explained how the Romans, when they slashed their wrists in bathtubs, they could drink wine and write down their final words as they died. It wouldn't be so painful for Anişoara either, especially as her painkiller prescription is the strongest available for hamsters.
Three out of three people don't see any point in prolonging her life through surgery. (None of these three people were me.) She had a full hamster life.
I will miss her constant falls off high counters, the little bounce she sometimes added upon hitting the ground, her chasing me around in her hamster ball, her philosophical moments atop her second story house. She whom my boss just mistook for a muffin, what a loss to civilization that such an inquisitive and charismatic hamster should live for a mere two years!
But I am forewarned of the Frankendisasters that can happen should I attempt to extend her time.
My black velvet jacket with the gold trim: I shall cut out a patch of it to serve as her burial shroud. (The velvet part inside, though Anişoara's fur is softer than any velvet.)
There is a spot in the front yard where I can dig a small grave. I will paint her tombstone on the boulder overlooking her spot. (I imagine this should be done by moonlight. Ideally I would dress the part.)
Now that I moved Anişoara to the bathtub, she can truly die a stoic Roman death.
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