Dododreams

Looking down to my right just now, it occurs to me that I never say much here about my other cat, Dulcie.

As you might recall she came to us as a companion for Beauregard after Roscoe died. I was out all day and poor Beau was lonely and so it make sense to find someone to brighten up his waning days a bit. Never mind that that was 3 or so years ago and his waning seems to be taking a long time, thank heavens — he had turned ultrawhiny and obviously lonely being the only cat for the first time in his life.

When Dulcie came home from the humane society she was roughly three years old, bald on the belly from being spayed (yes, yes, a shaved pussy, sorry to be so vulgar) and in general a nice little creature who, although not as fizzbrained as good ol’ Roscoe was obviously good-natured and tolerant of the kids.

Beau wasn’t so pleased. For a week or so he hissed at her so hard that he gave himself a bad case of the hacks (how humiliating for him; I looked away) and thoroughly told her who was The Boss. Then about 10 days after she joined us I saw them touching noses while passing in the hall and knew all would be good.

Dulcie is a dark gray and white skinny mutt of a cat, with stubby legs. She had very scruffy coarse fur when she came to live with us, and a big healing scab on her tail. Soon after moving onto the proverbial Easy Street her fur grew thick and deep and now she feels like a plush toy.

There was one other significant change. One day I looked at her and said, “Damn, Dulcifer, you are one roundie cat!” I cut the free-feeding food back, and began to lock her up in the spare bathroom at the house while Beau ate his soft food but still, she continued showing (and growing) the characteristic shape of an 1890s successful robber baron. What was happening here?

Then one day I went to get some special treats for the guinea pigs. Hmmm, nothing there but empty bags. You’ve got it — the little opportunist kittycat had raided the cupboard in the bathroom (probably while Beau was enjoying his tuna surprise) and had chowed down all the high-cal peeg treats.

Since then I have made no real attempts to put the furry football on a diet. She can leap onto the bed, up and down the bunkbed in my daughters’ room, and up onto the window sill (although the kitchen counter is impossible, oh darn) and in the meanwhile the kids and I have a lovely purring warm sweet kitty to pet and love. Dulcie… she’s a keeper.