Dukie comes home

Dukie has found his voice. The little cat began life at a disadvantage. He spent most of his time at the shelter in the kitty litter. I chose his big brother, Thomas, and his "sister," Nora, but declined when given the chance to pick Dukie.

I didn't think he would live for long, but I couldn't get Dukie out of my mind. I adopted Thomas and Nora around Halloween that year, but there was that third cat, a sibling of the other two, that I didn't take home. By Thanksgiving I went to the shelter again, and there was Dukie, looking forlorn and forgotten lying in his litter box. I adopted him that day, but that didn't mean he was accepted by the other cats.

That was seven years ago.

For seven years, Dukie has been the cat left out. Dukie has always been the last cat at the dinner bowl. His siblings scoop up his treats before he can find them. Dukie has problems with grooming. His fur gets stuck in his mouth. He has no purr. His fur sticks out from his body like the hair of a punk rocker.

Meanwhile, Thomas has become the dominant kitty. He's also the fattest of the three, and the greediest when it comes to food and cuddles. Nora, our little girl kitty, has held her own since the day she clung to the side of her cage, meowing loudly to be taken from that place of refuge and constraint. We named her Nora because the doctor told us she was female. On the day she was to be spayed, we found out she was male. After the sterilization, I suppose it didn't matter. I didn't want to change Nora to Norman, so I left the name and identity intact.

Recently, I started feeding the cats a little meat with their dry cat food. The change in Dukie has been remarkable. He's meowing. His fur is slicked down. He pushes his way to the front of the chow line.

At long last, Dukie is home.