The fat pinky thinks I climb on her side and lay on her like I would a branch because I like her. She’s not entirely wrong but feline motivations are deeply layered and mixed in there is desire for heat as well as an always building hunger. As a proud member of the Felis silvestris catus clan it’s hard not to like, at least on some level, a pinky who is an ailurophile. Especially this one, who knew enough to say when the skinny pinky asked what me and my sister’s names were going to be,“I don’t know yet, we’ll have to see.”
“See what?” asked the skinny pinky, (he’s ok too, though not as enamored with me as he is with my sister making his value and intelligence debatable.)
“See what their personalities are like. They will show us their names all on their own.”
True to her word she watched and waited calling us Mr. and Ms. Kitty Kitten Kins until she thought she heard our names on the wind.
I know of the evil lurking outside the front door and thus I am not fond of it opening, even less so when I was a cub. Beneath the couch is an ideal sentry position and admittedly I took post there more often than was entirely dignified, and after an age where my entire body would still fit. During one of these moments the fat pinky looked at me and asked not unkindly,
“Mr. Kitty Kitten Kins why are you so skitched out all the time and your sister so brave?”
“Stupid should not be mistaken for brave,” I explained, loudly, while watching her face light up. I also went on to explain (to no avail by the way) that the phrase she was thinking of was sketched out not skitched out but she’s stubborn and bossy.
However, she wasn’t wrong and Skitchy rang true as evidenced by my stunning popularity. However, the names did not stop there. Overtime she added on monkey (I like to climb), potbellied piggy(I chewed all the hair off my belly and am always hungry), bad kitty(she means smart), spoiled rotten(her fault not mine), patches(chewed my arms and legs too) and his royal highness (need I comment?)
Making my name: His Royal Highness Skitchy Monkey Patches Piggy Reed Dillon. It’s a good thing I’m a lot of cat for that much name, not to mention species.
My sister? She has it easier. Princess Spoiled Rotten Poison Ivy. And believe you me, her name fits too.
The Naming of Cats
The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn’t just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I’m as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there’s the name that the family use daily,
Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey–
All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter–
But all of them sensible everyday names.
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that’s particular,
A name that’s peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum-
Names that never belong to more than one cat.
But above and beyond there’s still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover–
But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name