D.C.

D.C. stands for "Damn Cat".  It's what I named the little monster I found in our breezeway one morning when I was young.  My mother told me he had to go, but he was already my friend.  I was left at home with him while they went away and was told that he was to be gone by the time they got back.  He wasn't.  I somehow convinced my mother to let me keep him.  It's one of the best things I ever did.

My four year old daughter and I play a game we call "being silly about love".  We look at each other and run for the guest bedroom, laughing like crazy people, jump on the bed and rough-house and love.  My favorite part is when I tell her that she has to let me maul her with love, because "I am a love monster.  I need love to survive.  You must love me." And so I munch her belly or require kisses or some other obnoxiousness.  She adores it and laughs in ways that make my soul sigh with happiness.  This is one of my favorite things I've ever done in my life.  I know that I'm passing a deep love of connection, laughter, and silliness to my daughter and that makes me incredibly happy.

Recently, I realized that I didn't make up being a "love monster".  D.C. did.  That cat loved so ferociously.  It's hard to imagine.  He would try to knock me over (he was big!) by rubbing his face on me.  He would lay down right in front of me when I was walking in an attempt to get me to stop and love him.  He would follow me all over the house.  As soon as I'd sit down, he'd jump up and purr very loudly, right in my face.  And, unlike most cats, he always, always wanted love.  No cat mind-games for him.  Nope.  You knew exactly what D.C. wanted, all the time:  LOVE!  For an adolescent boy in a not-overly loving household, having him love me so much changed me.  And now I see that I'm passing that love to my daughter, to my wife, and really to everyone who I can pass it to.  It's quite a gift to get from a Damn Cat.