Dulcie, Dulcie, they did not speak in dulcet tones.
The hours and the minutes had gravel in their throats. The inches and the miles scraped your soft toes.
A cat’s eyes should never see so little. Your blue moons were meant to behold kind eyes and fish bits shaped like stars. You were born to see yourself reflected in smitten smiles. But the woods were empty, and not even the gnomes and fairies came to your aid.
A cat’s eyes should never see so much. When you are hungry and afraid, all your senses know it. Inside your chocolate-caramel cloud, you tasted the missing sweetness. With no one to hold you, you saw a fearful future.
How, darling Dulcie, did you stay so soft?
How did you keep your toes tender on stony ground? How did you keep believing that life might still leak mercy? How did you keep firm hold of yourself when you did not know where Animal Control was lifting you?
A cat’s dignity speaks in many dialects. You swore and sassed and sizzled like a live wire. Then you cracked your Cadbury egg and let us glimpse the good, gooey heart inside. Your teeth were hurting, and your ears were ooky, and your beauty had never given you any get-out-of-sorrow coupons.
A cat’s softness can survive brittle facts. You spoke freely of the sad, brave enough to believe we would love you anyway. You purred beneath hands and fingers, letting love get lost and found in your long hair. You mixed your messages and metaphors, blissful and angry in the same breath.
Dulcie, Dulcie, some would call you inconsistent or undecided. But you were not weighing the risks of love. You were summoning the softness that strengthens a steel spine. You were hurtling through honesty as the captain of your own starship.
You told us that you were creme brulee, mushy custard beneath a crisp top (which is universally adored as the best part). You told us that you were fully self-actualized, old enough and innocent enough to accept yourself entire. You told us that you wanted to be petted, except when you didn’t, but that you loved the people even when you forsook their fingers. You told us you were grateful for the medical care, even when “grateful” sounded a bit gnarly. You told us everything and fully expected us to stay.
If you’d stayed a little longer, maybe you’d have made us soft, too.
A cat’s courage can command armies of anxious hearts, if we’ll surrender. Dulcie, with your long tale and your storybook eyes, you are a vision of what we might all become. How can we keep our toes tender enough to feel the sandy miracles still ahead for every one of us?
You won’t be here to tell us, as your ferocious faith has become sight. Dulcie, Dulcie, we should not be surprised that you were adopted. Yet here we are, children again, clapping our hands and wiping our tears. Another tragedy turns untrue. Another legend walks softly into her joy.
Perhaps this is the secret to staying soft. We cannot become fossils if we stay fascinated. A single grain of trust in tomorrow can keep us from drying out.
Dulcie, Dulcie, what adoptions and elations await us all? May your blue eyes always behold the best.
PS: Joy is in the eye of the beholder, so forgive us if we’re a bit weepy today. You guessed it: Dulcie’s soft feet have danced out our door, in the arms of an AwesomeAdopter.