This came to me.My beloved Dee
May I call you Dee because that is how I remember you and want to think of you; as my sweet, little brother—the runt of the litter who became strong and healthy because he was such a little hard-head. That's how you were, sweet Dee, and that's how I read how you still are (and what a mouth you have, you rapscallion!).
And you must call me, and think of me, as your beloved Ceecee, even though here, with my sweet little family, I am called Buttercup (or Cuppy). I laugh as I can almost see you flinch with horror at such a name and I know just how silly it is. But then the people I live with—two very, very old sisters—are rather silly too, and it's still amazing to me that they managed to stop dithering long enough to even find a name for me, however silly. But I love them both dearly.
I am very lucky to be able to write to you and it is all serendipitous! My silly ladies, who are called Milly (for Milicent) and Winnie (for Winnifred) moved in together in their widowhood. Their children (they have five between them) are scattered all over the place and all of them worried for the two dears. So one weekend one of their sons (a very nice man who is "that way" if you know what I mean and I think you do) came and installed a fine computer with all the bells and whistles. The ladies turn it on every morning, turn it off every night, and dust it in between. That's all. So there it was, unused; a very expensive piece of bricabrac indeed. So here I am.
How did I learn you were looking for me? Two ways. First, a very strange cat named Mordred, who lives with the old duffer next door, struck up a conversation with me and mentioned a Jack Russell he had heard about, a thousand miles away, who was looking for his sister. He had heard about this dog through the cat grapevine, which is a very potent thing! Then I read a Tweet from one of my friends saying that she heard about a blog written by a vulgar little mutt. And there you were, telling the world about your life.
I have read everything and love you and miss you more than ever. I am so proud of you. I suspect I will never see you again, as we are so far apart, but isn't it nice that we are in the same world and know the other is alive and well? That's so much more than many, many other sisters and brothers in the canine kingdom.
There is no way I will begin to speak to my Sisters, as you speak to your Skeeter, for if I began to speak and they, more importantly, thought I understood what they said they would dither me to death. There is so much prattle in this home—a spoon left on the counter can be discussed for hours!—and I desperately do not want to join in. When the two hens begin to dither, I find my pillow in a nice quiet corner near a radiator, and snooze. When we all come together is in front of the TV where, quite unbelieveably, they quieten down and watch police procedurals. We have an almost steady diet of CSIs and Law and Orders. The bloodier the show, the more they seem to like it! They don't gasp or anything when the people on the show fiddle about with cadavers. At the end of the program one of the Sisters, if the show has been particularly gorey, always says, "Now wasn't that delicious!" It sometimes make me wonder if they are grieving widows or Black Widows.
That's all for now, Dear Heart. Do get back to me. I love you and love you and kisses all over and isn't life grand!
Ceecee
PS: Don't let the fucks and twats get to you!
PPS: xxxxxxxxxxxxxooooooooooooxxxxxxxxxxx
I hate fucking sentiment but my little doggie heart could burst.
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