After exploratory surgery, numerous medications, x-rays, checkups and
feedings, I'm sad to report that little Gypsy never recovered from whatever
it was that was ailing him; he passed away peacefully last night shortly
after 11pm.
 
Gypsy's appetite seemed normal yesterday.  I had been force feeding him a
special veterinary canned food via a syringe along with 3cc's of baytrill
suspension and maxeran suspension that had been prescribed post-surgery; he
was still too weak to even climb out of his cage yet alone eat on his own.
His hydration was up.  But he was still very groggy (a condition he'd never
lose since the ailment first set in).  He seemed to be constantly sleeping.
There were no official diagnoses, no adrenal blockage, and no response to
antibiotics.  Nobody knew exactly *what* it was that was killing him.
 
This morning the apartment seemed somewhat empty; no-one to joyfully greet
the day with, to roll around on my bed and watch as I got dressed, to lunge
at my cereal bowl as I ate (he never could get enough of cereal) or to roll
around in the towels I would leave on the floor especially for him (he loved
towel wrestling).  After two years you become somewhat accustomed to having
a little furball running behind you everywhere you go, hoping that you'll
turn around and offer only a few moments of your time to play before you go
off to work (his favourite game was hide-and-seek).
 
Gypsy will be buried with his favourite toys (two rubber balls that only HE
was allowed to touch) in the forest behind the apartment complex where we
would go for walks in the summer. The place he frequented most outside of
the apartment.
 
Gypsy would have celebrated his second birthday in a few days.  He was very
well loved and will always be remembered.  This wasn't supposed to happen.
 
I thank you all for your undying support and suggestions.  We did all we
could.
 
:-(
 
Regards,
.drh
 
--
Dan Herold
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http://www.interlog.com/~drh
[Posted in FML issue 1629]