Dazey the He-She Cat has issues and I believe the time has come to let the uhhh hhmmm....cat out of the bag. The poor mouser's name alone probably tipped you off to the unfortunate "tail" (sorry, I just can't help myself) that is to follow. It is a tragic story really. One of reckless abandonment, insurmountable insecurities, and just a wee bit of gender confusion. And that's just my side of the story, (OK OK... except for the gender confusion. I'm fairly certain I'm of the female persuasion), so you can imagine the heartbreak that is the life of DAZEY THE HE-SHE CAT (cue the orchestra).
Actually Dazey is a very fortunate feline as his/her life was dangerously close to ending not long after it had begun. The story of Dazey begins on a sunny afternoon shortly after unexpectedly losing our beloved 13 year old calico, Penni, on the same anniversary weekend I was off stalking Keith Urban (see Not Today Keith Not Today). Being the compassionate children they are, Owlie and Baby Chick were grief-stricken for all of about 52 & 3/4 seconds before they began asking for a new kitten. Mama Finch being the hard hearted soul that she is replied no way, no how, not in this lifetime. Needless to say, we were at the city shelter looking at adoptable purrers two days later. Repeat after me, I'm not a pushover, I'm not a pushover.
The veterinarian at the shelter assured us that upon examination Dazey was in fact a 10 week old girl. Because I tend to be of the opinion that the first thing taught in Vet School 101 is how to tell male from female, I believed him. Silly me. You'd think I would have been tipped off something was amiss when the description on Dazey's shelter cage was for that of an opossum. I guess vet school ain't what it used to be.
Anyhoo, we proceeded to fall in love with and take home the sweet little furrball and come up with the name Daisy. Cute huh? It was cute until we took the darling into our own vet a few weeks later and after much quiet, back-turned, back and forth whispering between the vet and his assistant, the good doc turns to us and announces, "Congratulations! It's a boy!". This was also just after I had ordered a very girly little pink name tag the day before to go on the brand new, blinged out, Paris Hilton-would-be-jealous-collar. Before we even rolled into our driveway after that infamous visit, Daisy had been renamed Dazey, as in Dazed & Confused, which we all pretty much were at that point. Alright, alright, alright.
So, here we are, six months later and we've discovered that Dazey the He-She Cat has other strange insecure habits which would indicate the need for some kitty-whisperer type of intervention/therapy, such as continuing to nurse/suckle on any exposed skin he can find including the crook of my arm, sticking closely to Mama Finch at all times (while I write this, he is laying directly to my right. Note to self: Do not make eye contact) or scarfing down not only his food, but also that of Buddy the Wonder Dog, which would explain why Dazey is quickly becoming identified as the fat cat in the nest. Oh Daze, so many problems, so little time.
Oh, and by the way, Buddy and Dazey are now the best of friends. I know this because Dazey will occassionally give Buddy a bath whether he needs one or not. They sometimes even nap together on our bed. That's right - on OUR bed. Daddy Owl is not so thrilled about this turn of events, but what can I say? Buddy the Wonder Dog thinks he IS human, which quite frankly is another story for another time, 'cause right now I have to get this cat off my arm and go pour the dog some more food. Here kitty, kitty, kitty...