CHICCO, NOT JUST A PET
by Tony Ghezzo ©

A few days ago my wife and I took our 9-year-old cat to the veterinarian. During the past few weeks, Chicco had lost his usually good appetite; he was drinking water almost continuously. After he had lost at least three pounds within a relatively short time, we began to realize that all was not well with him; there was something extremely wrong.

The vet ran tests. After analyzing his blood, the vet determined that Chicco had diabetes; his blood count was way over 500. In addition, our cat had at least three teeth seriously infected. We had not been aware that Chicco was so seriously ill. Incredulously I asked the vet:

"How does diabetes affect an animal?"

Well, he must have had severe headaches," he answered me.

Headaches! Truly, how do you know when a pet has headache?

The veterinarian gave us the bad news and told us that Chicco would never be normal again, that his vision had already been damaged by the diabetes and his high blood counts, that he would require injections of insulin twice a day, that three of his teeth were badly infected and they would have to be pulled out. The vet's suggestion to us was that we seriously consider euthanasia as a solution.

We took our cat home with us that evening. We wanted to think about it. How could we depart from such a wonderful pet without at least giving some serious consideration to the various pros and cons that would result in his life or death?

Chicco was a wonderful animal and great company for us. He never once scratched or bit anybody, not even our grandson Alex when he pulled his tail. When I got up in the mornings and walked into the living room, Chicco was there to greet me. When I shaved, he sat in a corner of the shower room looking at me and watching the whole process. When we came home from shopping or any other place, Chicco was there to greet us the instant we opened the house door.

Chicco was not just a pet; he was a good friend and part of our family.

It was not easy for us to decide his fate but finally we agreed that it would be better for him if we were to put him to sleep. In the morning we took him back to the vet. We gently set him onto the inspection table, in front of the vet, who was preparing the syringe for his final injection. With his big green eyes he looked straight at us, as if to say "good-bye". I had the strangest feeling that Chicco knew that it was the very last time we would be together.

Choked with emotions, we walked out of the vet's office. In the car, on our way home I told my wife:

I'm so glad that animals can't talk.

EDITOR'S NOTE:
Laurel, my daughter, who is the designer, developer and technical operator of 4pointspress.com, as well as all the other websites our publishing company creates, is an avid animal lover. She has loved and housed many pets in her life and currently she has three cats, which are 'cloned' as closely as possible to her original ones. One of them, "Que", is now living with DiabetesII.