In happier, healthier times:
Roxy's story came to an end yesterday morning. I woke up, he didn't. Despite all the medicine and care, he could no longer fight the sickness. I spoke to the vet after the necropsy, and it turns out he was sicker than we knew. His right lung was diseased, his kidneys were mineralized, and there were growths in his stomach near where it empties into the small intestine. We'll know more when the tissue samples come back from the lab. It was a fight he was destined to lose. Then again, life is a fight we are all destined to lose, be we beast or man, no matter the cause.
He was 16 years old, and was a part of my life for over 14 years. I was 26 when he came into this house, and 41 when he departed. He was the one constant in my life during all that time, a little green monster that needed food and light, needed to have his bathroom needs met, and needed love and affection — and I did love him very much.
He was there when I had nobody else. When I felt completely sad and alone in this world I'd look over and he'd be there. He was always there for me to talk to. Talking to a pet isn't crazy. Talking to yourself might be crazy, but a pet? Not at all. I've contended for quite a time that part of having a pet when you live alone is so you don't feel crazy when you're talking to yourself, because you're not talking to yourself. You're talking to a lizard (which is perfectly reasonable, no?).
Maybe instead of taking up this space to use as a lamentation, I'll post a link to the first time I ever featured my little guy here. And you can see how I felt when all was well in our world.
I'll always love my little green guy.