Cherished Blogfest

This weekend, Damyanti, Dan Antion, Paul Ruddock, Peter Nena, and Sharukh Bamboat are hosting the Cherished Blogfest. Participants are asked to write about a particularly cherished object, and why it’s so special. Click on the button for the sign-up list.

Davy is the worn-out old red tabby on the far left, Paul is the caramel-colored tabby, John is the grey cat, Keith is the dog, and Simon is the gigantic frog.

Davy and his twin sister Davina were made for me in 1987 or 1988 by my paternal grandma, who’s been in the other world since April 2014. Believe it or not, these cats are the exact same age. It’s pretty obvious I love Davy the most. Once upon a time, he looked like Davina, plump, bright, unfaded, no worn patches or stuffing peeking out. My excuse for having given them matching names is that I was a child and didn’t know any better. I thought multiples were supposed to have rhyming names, or boy-girl versions of the same name.

I’ve slept with stuffed animals my entire life, and even had one with me when I was away at university. I didn’t bring Davy, though, since he was so old and worn, and I didn’t want anyone to steal him. After my car accident in August 2003, I asked a nurse to ask my parents to bring Davy to the ER. My nurses could totally understand why I’d asked for that stuffed animal when they saw how worn-out he was. It was obvious we’d been through a lot together.

I also had Davy with me during my 8-day stay in hospital after my first surgery, and probably during my 3-day stay after the second surgery (in a different, much less personal hospital). He became Real a long time ago, just like the Velveteen Rabbit.

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

Davy is kept in a bureau drawer now, since he’s just too worn and old anymore to be kept even tucked under the covers. The only stuffed animal in my bed now is Simon, who takes up half the bed and is almost as big as I am. I’ve thought of sending Davy to a stuffed animal hospital, but I paused at the thought of my grandma’s stitches being taken out and replaced. Davy also might not seem like Davy anymore if he were repaired, even if that made him sturdier.

In case of a fire, Davy would be the first thing I’d grab, absolutely no questions. And if you’re wondering,

Davy brought me a lot of comfort after his namesake passed away. I still can’t believe he’s gone.