memento1 | Oh God.

Donna's sick. I don't know what it is. But she's really lethargic, discoordinated...she can't walk, she can't seem to move one of her back legs that much. And she's got eye-boogers, which all sick rats get. Really, I don't think she'll make it through the night. Oh God. This is tough. I didn't know what I was going to do with her once I had to move, and was almost thinking her time would come before I had to decide, but it's still painful. Donna was my sweet sweet girl who never bit, never ran away - she was always nice and gentle and shy. She ran her maze like a pro and got me a 100 in Behavior lab. And she's my little TV star, being on an episode of The New Adventures of Old Christine in the short time it was on. And just quiet evenings when she'd sit on my shoulder and grate her teeth in happiness. Oh, my poor Donna. I'm sorry I didn't take better care of you. I'm sorry I didn't notice you were sick earlier.

I snuggled with her a bit, gave her more food than she'll know what to do with, and put her lixit down lower so she can reach it. She probably won't ever get to most of it, but maybe she'll go happy. My dear Donna.