L.R. Burt

Yesterday Mr. Burt and I went to Operation Kindness and found an addition for our family. Ladies and gentleman, allow me to introduce you to Miss Dorian Gray:

She was supposed to be a grey kitten. Or at least, we’d wanted to get a grey kitten, especially after we thought of the name Dorian Gray. But this little two-month old girl won our hearts, and somehow, even though she’s not grey, the name works for her. We call her Dorrie for short.

At just two months old, Dorian Gray’s a tiny little thing. She came from a litter of four, and we liked the fact that while the other three were literally climbing the walls of their cage, she just lay there in her little bed and let us pet her. She was actually a bit shy, and when we got her home, made straight for the bottom shelf of the desk in our dining room (which will amuse my parents greatly, seeing as that was my favorite hangout when I was a baby), then found a bookcase and wedged herself between a plastic storage container and the shelf above, and then hid for a while behind another bookcase, under the TV cabinet, and up inside the recliner. (We lost her for about an hour because it never occurred to us she could hide there.) But she’s fast warming up to us.

On the drive home, Dorian Gray proved she wanted me to be her mommy by falling asleep in my arms with one little paw resting on my chest.

Though a bit wary at first, Dorrie’s getting to know her territory. Since I let her out of the bathroom this morning, that territory has included the inside of my fuzzy white robe. I think she’s been bathing it.

If there’s a tight spot, Dorrie’s there. And even if she could walk normally by moving just a fraction of an inch to the side, she’ll squeeze underneath things to get where she wants to be.

She’s the fastest little thing, and loves to meow from another room until we come looking for her, then she’ll run away — she wants to see us play with her, not actually play with us. What a cat.

But she’s also very obedient. We’ve already taught her not to crawl behind and underneath the TV cabinet. A low, firm, “Dorian, NO!” does the trick. She’s a pouter, though. If You tell her no, she’ll hide her face in the crook of your arm for a moment.

We already had to give her a bath, as she smelled a bit like a kitten that’s spent her whole life in a small cage with three siblings and one litter box. Obviously she didn’t really enjoy being sponged with a damp cloth, but she actually didn’t hate it, either. there was no scratching or biting or real attempts at a struggle.

In any case, she forgave Mr. Burt enough to take a nap in his lap.

So that’s our baby! We kept her in the downstairs half-bath last night, so as not to lose her in the recliner or elsewhere again, and when I came down for coffee and to let her out, I found her sleeping all covered up in a blanket The Husband put down for her. She was happy to see me and has spent most of her two hours awake being petted in my lap. And bathing my apparently very dirty bathrobe.

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cats, dorrie, operation kindness