My hard heart has finally melted – for a chameleon
Friends often find my attitude to pets a bit – I quote directly – “brutal and unfeeling” for their tender, city sensibilities.
I make no apology, although coming from Irish farming stock, I’d describe myself as briskly efficient rather than brusque. It’s why I get absolutely infuriated by the weepy sentimentality of owners who can’t bear to end the suffering of seriously ill cats or barely sentient dogs.
I’ve fallen out with people over their lack of common sense and common decency. In my book, if it’s your pet to enjoy, it’s your responsibility to (no, not destroy, I’m not a monster) dispatch humanely when the time comes.
So was that really me rushing a poorly chameleon to an out-of-hours vet on Sunday, to the tune of £340? And then staying up all night as
instructed to keep vigil and pipette-feed him?
Of course, it was! Where there’s life and the chance of life, there’s hope. Cornelius, our much-adored panther chameleon wasn’t old, but he was ill, dehydrated and alarmingly weak. I stayed practical and stony-faced while the kids sobbed as we piled into the car for our mercy dash to a clinic.
That night I watched over Cornelius, a real character who lived in a vivarium in the sitting room, where he was free to wander about by day. We provided a large
cheeseplant and constructed an extensive climbing frame for his entertainment but his favourite R&R was hanging off the cables behind the TV. He liked to be fed by hand and would spent most of Christmas on the tree, blending in and freaking visitors out as his eyes swivelled in different directions among the baubles. After two years, he was surely too young to die?
Next morning, I took him to the Royal Veterinary Hospital where he had X-rays and scans and received emergency rehydration to the tune of £240. Blood tests were in the offing, but Cornelius passed away before a sample could be taken. I was in bits.
Once there was nothing else I could usefully do, it was finally my time to cry. I’m still in deep mourning; my days feel emptier without him. Why is it that when you offer a pet the run of your house, it invariably chooses to settle in your heart? Or the cables at the back of the TV.