They call him Snackula...
...but his given name is Burt. Burton Baker Delaney. For the last 12 years, he's been my little buddy. Well, not exactly little. He stands over 13 inches tall and he's 30 inches from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail. In his prime he weighed about15 lbs. He's so quiet you never hear him coming. You just turn around and he's there. And if he had a voice, I swear he'd sound just like Sean Connery.
But despite looking like a small panther, I've never seen him use those fangs on anyone, human or feline.
I met him at a low point. I'd just lost my tiny, feral rescue, Sweetness. I was miserable. Then, one day, St. Patrick's Day to be exact, I got a text picture of a magnificent black cat in a shamrock bandana from my friend, my teacher, my vet, Dr. Karri Meleo. I wrote back "Uh, who's that?" She wrote back "His name is Burt... and he's available". So you know I hightailed up Lake City Way to her office.
getting his lurk on
When I got there, Karri explained that they kept several cats at a time as in-house blood donors and then before the process becomes harmful to them, the practice finds them good homes. They needed several. Karri ran a cancer clinic in the same building where her husband, Dave, worked as a veterinary trauma surgeon. They went through a lot of blood, in very small portions.
I like to say Burt lived in Gen Pop. The donor cats were kept in the doctors lounge where they could socialize with all the vets who might handle them, and each other. The first time I saw him, he was wrapped up in a Yin and Yang snuggle with his best friend, Jupiter, a beautiful red Maine Coon, sleeping like a baby . So when I picked him up, I held him like one, cradled in my arms. He reached out and put one paw on each cheek and squeezed. No claws. just a nice deep purrrrrr.
Besties
And we've lived happily ever since. Me, Burt and Harley Quinn (see above).
Until lately.
You see, Burt got sick. Started losing weight, stopped purring, started throwing up. He stopped meowing. Don't get me started about the cat box. I didn't know what it was.... kidneys? Thyroid? Age?
Nope.
The vet said diabetes. I didn't know that could happen. Not fatal. Treatable but not cheap. And I looked at him and I knew he wanted to stick around. So I bit the bullet and we started treatment, changed his diet, dialed in his insulin, and it's been making a difference. His weight's come back. His purr's come back. Still no meow when he opens his mouth though.
But it's expensive and so far, I've been handling it okay. I've been digging my way out of a lot of debts and obligations this year. But this week everything collapsed. Here in Seatttle, it's Ground Zero and the three industries that support us - artshows, acting, and restaurants, are all taking a beating.
I can take care of myself, but it's gonna be tight for a while. But I have to bring him back to the vet soon and with my hours getting cut the last few weeks, I've got no cushion for it. I'm trying to raise $700, which should cover the next two office visits, another two rounds of insulin, and the required syringes and test strips. I'm not a radio station, but as a reward, I promise to send you your very own cute picture of Burt .
Here's a link to my Go Fund Me page...
I really appreciate it. Because he's not ready to check out and I'm not ready to let him go.
Thanks,
Greg
Comments
Post a Comment