The Diamond Boy

Mom gave me many different names: Angry Crocodile, Tiny, Jerboa, Meerkat, Dragonozaur, a thorn, the crooked tail, the black gold, sweet boy, good boy, smart boy, mr. Grumpy, wet/dirty paws, little monkey, treasure, Dracocat, sharp-clawed paws, tiny psyco, son…but my Grandparents call me blackie, Ros or a diamond boy to highlight how much all the family invested in me so I could survive.
When Mom adopted me, we lived in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. The closest vet doctor was in the capital of the Country of the Red Dust – Siam Reap. It was 8 hours by bus in which pets were not allowed. Mom had to hide me all the way or argue with the driver so he’d let us in. All those trips and vet expenses and the drugs that my grandparents were sending us monthly (most of what I needed could not be found in Cambodia or even Thailand)…  No one really counted how much everything cost, well, maybe my granddad did. But my humans has to create a whole medicine supply chain for me: my grandparents had to find a person to take them from Russia to Thailand and Mom asked her former colleagues to take them to Cambodia or went there to pick them herself.
Imagine the disappointment of my grandparents finally met their diamond boy and had no chance to even touch me.

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