Some days, it feels like he waits patiently for the perfect moment to pull off one of his legendary sneaky-boy stunts. And, as always, he picks the day when I finally try to have a little fun for myself.
Sunday had been wonderful — one of those rare, sunshine-soft days that feel like a break from real life. Dr. Sabshin and I went to the beach for the sandcastle festival, the kind where people sculpt giants out of sand and somehow turn little grains into entire worlds.
We laughed, we wandered, we took pictures, and afterward we went out to eat. For a few precious hours, nothing existed except the ocean breeze and the simple joy of a day well spent.
When I finally got home, glowing from the sun and exhausted in the best way, I did the responsible things first — food, meds, cleanup — then allowed myself a generous nap I had definitely earned.
And that, of course, is when Sully decided to write the next chapter of chaos.
My mom had kindly let him out for playtime while I was sleeping. Normally, this would’ve been fine. Sully, after all, is a good boy — a mischievous boy, yes, but still good at heart. He and Tic Tac are basically tiny tornadoes with whiskers, full of energy and impossible to miss when they’re around. If I’m awake, I always notice when Sully suddenly isn’t underfoot, and I call him, and without fail he comes racing back with that “Who, me?” look.
But today, I wasn’t awake.
And Sully, being Sully, saw his chance.
My dad… well, bless him, he isn’t exactly the Sully detector that I am. He doesn’t always notice when the little troublemaker slips past his feet and onto the lanai — which is a big no-no. There are plenty of things out there a curious creature could chew on, none of them safe.
So, with me asleep and Dad not noticing, Sully had himself a little adventure.
When I woke up, everything seemed normal at first. But then I saw him — round. Round. His belly looked like he’d swallowed a small bowling ball. That’s when it hit me: he must’ve gotten into the bowl of dry food that was left out there.
Of course he did.
And sure, that’s better than chewing something dangerous and ending up with a foreign body — but for Sullivan, a belly stuffed full of dry kibble is still a problem. His body doesn’t handle that well. It throws everything off.
And this time… it threw off his sodium levels.
Sky. High.
The kind of numbers that make your heart drop into your stomach.
He refused to eat his usual soup, and his poor little system started struggling. So off we went, and the vet confirmed it: he needed a catheter. My brave, stubborn boy needed to be sedated because his veins are already so fragile and “junky,” as they put it.
Seeing that tiny body lying there, finally still, made my chest ache. He’s always so full of energy, so loud, so alive. And now he had to rest under sedation while they tried to help him.
My poor dude… my sweet, salty Sully.
Why must adventure always call your name at the worst possible moment?
But even now, belly stretched and sodium soaring, he’s still fighting. Still doing his best. Still the same boy who runs to me when I call him — the same boy who trusts me with every ounce of his tiny heart.
And we’ll get through this, just like we get through everything.
Because he may be a sneaky troublemaker…
but he’s my sneaky troublemaker.
And I love him more than every sandcastle on that beach.