No Longer the Lizard Lady
For the first time in twenty-three years, no glinting eye assessing me, no dorsal-ridged tail disappearing around the corner, no head bobs, no shed to pick, no seminal plugs to extricate, no scratches from well-trimmed claws, no abraded skin from brushing up against a keeled patch of leg scales or a long spiked tail.
There comes a point in all of our lives when our bodies and minds are no longer able to take physical care of our pets. There has been far too many times in the past decade when people are no longer financially able to care for their pets.
I always knew I would enter into the former category sooner rather than later, as being persistently sick and stressed shortens lives that would otherwise be long-lived based on the gene pool from which one descends. I have stepped as lightly as I could on the edge of the precipice of the physical, mental and financial cliff for over a decade, the cliff face crumbling away beneath my feet, leaving me momentarily suspended in mid-air, flailing madly for something solid to grab on to.
The load grew too heavy by the weight and will of a lizard whose needs, in the end, was more than my dwindling capacity was able to meet.
While my health might once again improve, there is no predicting when it (or if) it will happen, or how much improvement there will be, nor whether it will be enough. That is too uncertain a future to try a fostering arrangement, and not healthy for either of us if I hunker down and make us both just try to wait it out. We have been waiting it out. That only made it worse, especially for Mike.