The best weather of the year has finally arrived. The coolness of the autumn is in the air, along with the grey-washed skies that mark this time of year. The odious summer has left, and I can wear my turtlenecks and sweaters. Dolly can now resume her perch at my A/C free sill, and I can open up my window to let the freshness of the air inside. I miss the brilliant white winter, but still find myself wishing that this weather would last forever.

Dolores is now comfortable enough with me to completely fall asleep in my stomach. Not just any “closed-eyes-but-startled-at-any-slight-sound” asleep but “completely-twisting-over-belly-up-loss-of-all-senses” passing out. I find it interesting that she still has the ability to purr the entire time she’s on my stomach, but has no reflexes at all. I can touch the pads of her back paws or poke her belly and there’ll be no reaction. I can put her favourite treat in front of her nose, and she won’t even look at it. My theory is that purring is a very subconscious activity that cats may not be able to control.

I bought Dolores another toy, consisting of a sisal cylinder with a spring-loaded, bell-attached fuzzy ball. The cylinder doubles as a container for catnip, and for only a couple dollars, was a decent find. I also bought a small bag of wet cat food in gravy as a treat. After smelling this gourmet food, I’m now determined that all cat food has the same unique “cat food smell”, the way garbage has the universal “garbage smell”, whether someone throws out the last bites of his filet mignon or the moldy remains of her KD.

As Trolley has most aptly noticed, Dolly is now developing a gut, and her once lithe figure is accompanied by a soft belly of sorts. As can be seen in these before and after photos, the gut protrudes most distinctly from the neutral sitting position, and now covers up the hind legs.

I have a fly vacuum named Dolores.

For some reason, flies have been coming into the apartment through some magical plecopteran gateway, the location of which I haven’t been able to determine yet. Since Dolly is an indoor cat, the flies have been the only live thing that she’s even pounced on, aside from my toes under the covers.

She’s quite an efficient fly hunter, able to swat one without much trouble, although she consistently lets them get away when she takes an inspection under her paw by lifting it up. Once she actually catches one and is able to get her tongue on it, she’ll gobble it happily, and then look as if she hadn’t eaten her playmate. Sometimes the fly will soar to my ceiling, and she’ll meow at me with frustration, never looking away from the buzzing black dot.

Around the same time last year, the Canadian Womans soccer team were competing against the US in a final match in Calgary. I broke up with Christie. I bought John a PS2 with Virtua Fighter. John’s cousin was at the cottage with his dragon tattoo half finished and half payed for. John and Julia were going out. I hadn’t adopted Dolly yet. I had no job and no school.

I am still reading Moby Dick.