My husband and I have an 8-year old tabby cat named Coco, after the pioneering French fashion designer Coco Chanel. At the time we adopted her from the shelter, she was one year old, lean, lithe, elegant, and beautiful. Thus the name.
Of course, she was lean because she had kennel cold, and as soon as we got her home she needed pink antibiotics and lots of TLC. After that she became a happy and healthy DSH (that’s domestic short hair for you non-cat owners). This meant weight gain, as most DSHs experience when they are housecats, as is our spoiled little lovely. She now weighs in at a hefty 12.5 pounds, and although she is muscular she does still have the typical DSH pot belly that swings a bit from side to side when she galumphs around the house. She’s no thumper, but she’s not petite either. She is also more like a dog in that she does not pace her eating; we feed her at night all in one meal (to aid in keeping us asleep at 5 AM), and she chows it all down within about 15 minutes.
Over time my husband and I evolved a habit of coming up with funny nicknames for Coco, like LMW (Little Miss Wonderful) and others that are too goofy to mention. Last week my husband came up with the best nickname yet:
Complete with a hip-hop lyric wondering why her tail’s not curly.
This week it’s been really cold here, and her cute behavior of the week has been to curl up in a tight little (well, not THAT little) ball under the comforter on the bed and sleep all day. Last night when I came home from work and she was in that same position, where I had left her that morning, I came up with the new nickname of the week:
Which has, of course, led to all kinds of discussions about how we exploit her (typically involving lack of food), most of which would have Karl spinning in his grave.