The veterinarian pressed on Gladden's abdomen and felt a lump. It could be a blockage, he explained. He explained something called "paradoxical diarrhea," in which an intestinal blockage can cause diarrhea and weight loss. Or, it could be a tumor.

A set of two x-rays showed an advanced tumor.

Gladden T Hart is, by our estimates, a month short of being eleven years old. He is, the vet reminded us, the oldest sugar glider the clinic had ever seen. "For him to have lived this long means you guys have been doing something right all these years," the vet told us. But this was not good news. The vet gave us three options: surgery, let him live out his life on painkillers, or put him to sleep. At Gladden's age, surgery would be risky and the results would be of minimal benefit. Having gone through the wasting away with Gladys, neither Phillip nor I wanted to go through it with Gladden. We chose the third option, but we wanted to spend this last weekend with Gladden. Phillip had planned to take Tuesday off, so, after taking some time to compose ourselves, we went to the front desk to make an appointment for Tuesday. Phillip couldn't choose a time, so I chose it. In my state of shock, it didn't hit me until we walked out to the parking lot that I had just chosen the time that Gladden's life will end.

Crazy thoughts went though my mind on the drive home: Our relationship with The Bird & Exotic Clinic of Seattle will soon end. Should we get rid of the cage, or store it away for the future? Eight o'clock won't mean much to us anymore. We won't be buying many cans of Napoleon artichoke hearts anymore.

Phillip's emotions let loose as soon as the x-rays arrived. I didn't break down until the middle of my phone call to my parents.

We had planned on seeing Brokeback Mountain today, but Phillip decided that he wasn't in the mood for something so heavy, and I agreed.

It was also Phillip's idea that we should get out of the house and do something fun, so we went to the UW campus for some geocaching. That was a good suggestion. It was fun and it offered us some distraction. We found one cache and didn't find another.

On our way home, we stopped by the grocery store to pick up some food for Gladden. We picked up a can of creamed corn. When I picked up a can of chicken stock from the shelf, Phillip took it from my hand to check on the sodium content, then said, "Really, though, what difference does it make?" and put the can in the basket. I bought myself a quart of Starbucks coffee ice cream, because I thought I'll need it.

We're taking Gladden to the vet's office tomorrow morning. He has not been eating solid food all week. (And yet, as I write this, Gladden is munching on a kernel of corn.)

In yoga class this evening, I became aware that my body had learned, and is learning. I sense Lisa approaching, and suddenly I'm evaluating what doesn't feel aligned correctly. Are my hips aligned? Are my shoulders back? And so on. And my body corrects itself just a Lisa gives it the suggestion.

Gladden would not come out of his house for playtime last night. I managed to give him his medicine while he was still in bed. He would not come out of his house for playtime this morning, and he wouldn't take his medicine. I had to dump Gladden out of his house when I got home today, and force him to take his medicine.

Gladden has his full strength, it seems, but he doesn't have the drive. He has his appetite, but not for solid food. He eats yogurt and drinks Gliderade - both of which are good for him, but they're not enough. For the first time in the history of Chicken Night, the chicken went untouched last night. This is not good, but we don't know what it means.

There were several things I wanted to write about today, but none of them seem as important as Gladden T Hart right now.

When I checked my email this morning, I learned that a new geocache had been published last night at 10:45. Literally within minutes of the publication, two members of the "Tiresome Usual Suspects" felt it necessary to post notes that they wouldn't be able to look for the cache right away. Less than an hour after publication, three more members of the clique also known as the TUS logged Finds for the new cache. It disgusted me a little - I mean, don't these people have anything better to do in the middle of a Tuesday night?

And yet, I've been in a strong geocaching mood these past few days. In the middle of the scare with Gladden, I didn't write that we re-enabled "White Noise" last Sunday morning. I haven't been able to keep away from the geocaching web site for very long.

I posted a reply in the forums this morning. The subject was "Murphy's Law as it applies to geocaching." My contribution, which I'm rather proud of, was: "The longer you spend searching for a cache you can't find, the quicker your spouse/partner/friend will spot the cache tomorrow."

Then I decided to hunt for a cache at lunch today. It was a cache I thought I might have had a slim chance a logging a "First To Find" when it was published last October, before I went to work, but ultimately played it safe and didn't try. It's a long walk from work, but not too long. I thought I could, at least, get a start on finding its location. (I didn't have our GPS receiver, but I'd looked at Google Maps.)

I was able to walk twelve blocks to the park, search in the wrong spot, give up, spot another likely spot on my way out of the park, find the cache, sign the log, walk twelve blocks back to work, and log our 152nd find - all within an hour.

Grits did not go over with Gladden. On the other hand, Gladden didn't eat much of anything last night. I didn't bother giving him any solid vegetables - except for artichoke hearts, which I tore apart into leaves. As far as I can tell, he didn't even touch the artichoke hearts.

Gladden is feeling better, though. Just as The Gilmore Girls ended last night, I heard the sound of Gladden running in his exercise wheel. He and I had a great playtime last night. Gladden ran around and climbed into the chest of drawers, and out again, and... um... showed plenty of signs that his system is working. We had a good, but short, playtime this morning, too. Still, I wish he'd get his appetite back.

The Australian expert also told me that all sugar gliders in the United States are descendants of a smaller, darker subspecies of sugar gliders smuggled out of the southern end of the rainforests in New South Wales.

That piece of information rang true with something I've observed in Gladden over the years: He has a definite preference for southern cuisine - okra, chicken, sweet potato, watermelon. I was thinking about that on my walk home today.

Last night and this morning, Phillip and I saw that Gladden is still in a lot of discomfort. He has his strength, however. He has his appetite, but seems only able (or willing) to eat soft food - yogurt and a little lettuce. Then, on my walk home, I thought about a soft, southern dish that we just happen to have in our cupboard. This evening, I'm going to see how Gladden likes grits.

The veterinarian called me around three this afternoon. Gladden had a stomach ache, possibly caused by gas. He is fine. She, the vet, just happened to have a doctor from Australia on hand, who is an expert on sugar gliders. They gave Gladden some medicine, and he perked right up. They gave him an ultrasound scan, just to be sure. Then they observed him to be sure he stayed active.

"He's quite upset with me right now," the vet told me over the phone.

"That's a good sign," I replied, and the vet agreed.

The vet told me that Gladden weighs less than he's ever weighed - down to 142 grams. Considering that he's always been - as the vet put it, a "big guy" - the vet saw that as a good thing.

When I went to the clinic to pick up Gladden, I was greeted by the Australian sugar glider expert. She was eager to share everything she knew about sugar gliders - most of it was very interesting. I would have found it more interesting if she didn't keep going on and on and on about the subject, and if she had let me wedge a response in once in a while. (When she started ranting about people who feed their sugar gliders fruits and vegetables instead of insects, I was glad to keep my mouth shut. Bugs never went over well with our sugar gliders.) Really, though, she was interesting. I learned quite a bit from her. I had no idea that in the wild, sugar gliders hunt small birds. (I suppose I'm going to have to stop saying that sugar gliders are at the bottom of the food chain.)

Our vet told me that Gladden's fur is so soft that they didn't have to shave him for the ultrasound. I'm pretty sure that everyone involved was glad of that - especially Gladden. Apparently, they brought in the ultrasound machine just for Gladden, because our vet also told me that after Gladden's scan, they tried it out on one of the technicians, who is pregnant.

So now Gladden is home and ticked off about his terrible day. He'll soon find out that we also have more medicine to give him.

I called in sick from work today, but the truth is that I dropped Gladden T Hart off at the vet's office. I am now waiting by the phone. Gladden is not looking well.

Sunday morning - yesterday - Gladden wanted playtime at seven o'clock. I played with him. He was in a climbing mood. He climbed up the door frame three times. He can't make it all the way to the top anymore, but he made it about three-fourths of the way up once. After several attempts, he managed to climb up the back of my head and sat on top of my head. He had never done that before.

I went to Dave's and Mom's birthday parties alone yesterday. Phillip stayed home to recover from a sore back. When I got home, about five or six in the evening, I suddenly felt very tired. I laid down for a rest, and fell asleep almost immediately. Phillip woke me up. It was a quarter to nine - Gladden's breakfast was 45 minutes late. Gladden was half-way out of the top of his house, waiting for breakfast. I fed him and went back to sleep, expecting to wake up in the middle of the night.

I had a dream that Phillip and I were at a large, outdoor potluck. Phillip was in line ahead of me but, somehow, when we got to the food tables, I wound up ahead of him. I apologized, but Phillip said it was all right. At the first table were several dishes of unidentifiable cooked vegetables. I took a large helping of potatoes au gratin, put it on my plate, and moved on. At every one of the tables that followed, there were more dishes of the same unidentifiable cooked vegetables. I hadn't put anything on my plate except for the potatoes au gratin. I asked Phillip if that's all there was. Phillip pointed me to the next, and final, table. At that table, I took some chunks of cooked chicken, some black olives, and several spoonfuls of raw onions. Then I took a napkin and some silverware and turned around to find us some places to sit. The potluck was in a large park, and there were many picnic tables set up in every direction. Everybody was dressed in early 1900's summer clothes - white suits and straw hats on the men, and big white dresses and parasols on the women. Then my alarm woke me up. It was 5:30.

I got up and looked in the cage for Gladden. He was already in the house, I guessed. I got ready for work. Then Phillip got up. He asked me to take a look at Gladden. As far as Phillip could tell, Gladden hadn't eaten anything last, and hadn't asked for playtime at all last night.

I took a look. The food hadn't been touched. I looked inside the house. Gladden looked back at me. He was, at least, alive. I took the house out of the cage. Gladden looked like he had no energy. He managed to crab at us once, but we could hear that it took him some effort to do so. I coaxed him out of the house. He seemed like he could barely walk. His ears were horizontal (a sign of a sick or unhappy sugar glider). He did not look well at all.

Phillip has missed a lot of work lately, so I called in sick and he went to work. I literally poured Gladden out of the house. He seemed to melt into my hand. I put him in the travel cage. He did not object at all. I drove him to the vet's office and left him there.

Lynn pointed out that the fact that the veterinarian wanted to observe Gladden is a good sign. She explained to us that the vet thinks there is a reason to observe Gladden, and did not dismiss his condition as untreatable old age. (Gladden is ten years old - almost eleven.)

If there is a good side to all this, I have spent the morning typing the Church Council meeting minutes while I've waited by the phone.