Molly’s terminal illness has really sucked the wind out of me. Usually the day after we get home from vacation is a moderately fun day off taking it easy, unpacking, writing up a couple stories and bracing for work the next day.
Not so this time. Molly looks rather frail and the bloating doesn’t help. We have to give her pain medication with her food too. There have been a couple glimmers of hope, she manages to walk up to the dry food, take a couple nibbles and she is drinking water. I can’t tell if Molly uses the litter box. It’s moments like these it’s good and bad that animals can’t talk. The good would come in handy in how they could tell us how much pain they’re in and when they’re really ready to give up. The bad would knowing in words from them but at least I want to know from Molly if our relationship was mutual.
Don’t think of me as being callous or cheap, I just wish Molly would go in her sleep to spare the pain I experienced second hand from Somara when Wicca slowly faded away in on the vet’s table.
Meanwhile, I’m going break out of the cocoon (Somara’s term for when I’m super-depressed) and see if I can move forward while juggling this gloomy situation. I’m confident there will be hell to pay at work, the more successful Apple gets, the less compassionate I find the decision/policy makers.