In July, my mother and I took Percy to the vet for a routine check-up. My father rescued Percy from an unhappy ending and brought him to me. During Percy's first check-up in July, the vet discovered he had heartworms. She told us it didn't look very good, but we would have to wait to start treatment until the weather cooled off. The treatment can be difficult enough, and the extra heat apparently aggravates it.
Six weeks ago and one day ago, Percy began his treatment. I left him at the vet Monday morning and continued on to school. I might have cried a bit. A lot. I had to pull the car over to sob less than twenty minutes down the road.
Moving on, my mother picked him up on Tuesday and stayed with him. According to her reports, given to me almost hourly when I called to badger her, he was "fine." My mother is a fibber. On Thursday, she told me to come home because things didn't look good. She actually said, "It would be best if you came home as soon as possible. I don't think Percy is going to make it." She sounded like she'd been crying too.
I rushed home and crawled into bed with Perseus. He made it through the night. Then, the weekend. Then, the next week.