She chose me. The Husband had been begging for a rottweiler since before we said "I Do" and we finally had connected with a breeder we liked and trusted. I was sitting in the breeder's living room getting acquainted with the available pups to choose from when this little fluff of black and auburn climbed onto my lap and flipped on to her back. Belly exposed, she pressed her head into my tummy and blinked.
She chose me.
And ever since that moment, we've done everything in our power to do right by her. Love, a good home, a few doggy siblings to keep her company, plenty of socialization and training, and all the belly rubs a dog could ever ask for.
We're still trying. The first vet is history after misdiagnosing Cat and missing the possibility of cancer. The vet we are now seeing supports our efforts to see hope through for another week, but time is running out.
Cat's chest continues to fill with fluid and she is down to 67 pounds now, a far cry from her normal 87. But she's happy. She's as sweet as ever. And we're smart enough to know it's probably just an act. Our baby must be miserable.
We go back on Thursday for a re-evaluation, and may come to a decision soon. She chose me. She chose us. And we have to do what's right for her. Because really, that's what she asked me to do that day she climbed on to my lap and pressed her head into my tummy.