The only swear words I ever heard my grandparents utter were the whispered particulars for the name of their adopted cat “Dee Gee”, my aunt’s cat that inexplicably preferred to live at their house instead of hers. Only somehow “DG” got reversed to “GD” by my grandfather.
I don’t know what DG’s name had meant before he became the bane of my grandparent’s meditative and previously cat free existence but perhaps it had something to do with the fact that DG was the only male among my aunt’s clan. My aunt was a collector of cats, mostly strays or kittens begotten before the vet could safely spay their mothers. She even sewed entire families of cats as beloved cotton calicos and ginghams with felt noses and soft wire whiskers. I think her all time record was 8 cats at once and that was when she lived in a farm house on 20 acres of land. Winter, “Winny”, was the sweetest, mittens was the warmest, not because her name implied a relationship to outerwear but because she slept within centimeters of the wood stove, but DG was a hunter and a sweetheart, the best God Damned all around cat I knew. Maybe that’s what they meant. It was hard to say whether my grandfather’s prickly salt and pepper haired chin dipped inwards for emphasis or for expletive.
Upon further reflection, I may have heard my aunt refer to him as “Damned Good cat”, hence the acronym DG fit more properly with both his personality and the service he unwittingly performed for her in finding another residence.