Years before, I had found Mimi, our cat, as a starving kitten, no more than a few weeks old. She was frail and nearly bald, with a belly swollen full of worms. Sazia would have ended her life mercifully, but I refused, and insisted on nursing the kitten with drops of milk and bits of mashed chicken meat and fat. That which you tend, you come to adore with the kind of love that bypasses sense and reason. So it was for Mimi. So it came to be with Dolssa.