My freakish gardening abilities strike again. I've grown corn, raspberries, peas, pumkins, and several other crops in planters in my barren courtyards. Add to the list these little mushrooms, about an inch tall, currently sprouting in the shade provided by the sunflowers and pinto beans. I didn't plant them, and I have no clue where they came from, but I'm happy to have them--probably won't eat them because I have no clue if they're edible or not.I initially called the vet because Clover was doing so well. Yesterday she turned feverish, lethargic, and acted like the tumor was hurting; I called the vet again to establish that I now needed an appointment instead of a phone consult. I spent most of the day crying because I thought I was going to take her in and the vet would say we should just put her down. We walked out of the office with antibiotics, painkillers, and muscle relaxers. I was ready to put her down; as I said before, we've known for a while that this day was coming. The vet and I are on the same page about what's happening. It's likely that the tumor has become infected somehow, which means a surgery, except that neither of us wants to torture the rat because she's so old--by old age or disease, the end is near. She shouldn't have to go through more than she needs to.
At this point, we're just trying to make her comfortable for a while. If she hasn't passed on "naturally" by the time the painkillers run out, we will have to put her down. As happens with all ailing rats in my house, there has been much cuddling and comforting.
I went in and filled out the stacks of paperwork required for my new job yesterday. It was literally a stack as thick as a spiral notebook, and now I start the background check. I'm starting this coming Tuesday.
Alula
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