I think I will try a silly post while sinking. Comedy from the depths? Well, felines can accomplish anything.
The inimitable Dotty Headbanger (http://dottyheadbanger.wordpress.com/) has established herself as a Baby-Namer of note, and the child in question – one Sausage – has become all the more enchanting (http://dontforgettofeedthebaby.wordpress.com/). So, I asked Dotty how she would feel about naming/nicknaming a cat.
Our youngest, whom I named Vincent after Noel Fielding’s delightful character in The Mighty Boosh – oh dear, ADD rises amidst the bitter ache of anguish – side note – the Boosh warrants a quick intro for anyone unfortunate enough to have never had the pleasure – Vince in Pink (Howard is my favored character, but the kitten just struck me as a Vince):
Had to watch it again. “The endless…ness”. Maybe the clip IS about BORDERLINE.
Sorry, back to these little furry beasts. We keep four, 3 related with good names, then the baby whose name keeps shifting. So I was hoping Dotty could nail it. But then after dinner earlier in the week I realized that three of the four were missing. Hadn’t seen any of them all day. They are all indoor kittehs, but we had taken groceries up the night before and, while there is no way three of them could have slipped past us without our notice, the door must have been slightly ajar, although no one remembers finding it open randomly and closing it. It is still a mystery.
Vince was among them. The other two are savvy enough – they have a few multi-week cross country road trips under their belts and the broke the screens on the deck sliders last summer and ended up being back yard cats. There were some fleas, but no traffic, no big deal. But poor Vince had never been outside. And now we live on a main road. And it was dark by the time I realized they were gone and had grilled everyone as to the last time they saw this or that cat. We decided to go out there anyway.
Standing on my porch I shouted for the mum – my cat. She hollered back & ran up the stairs.
I closed the door behind her & yelled for the next escapee. My 17 year old’s cat. She was still slinging pizzas up the road. We decide we will not find him in the dark.
17 year old comes home, goes crazy, 16 year old offered to help her look. They are back within minutes, the giant cat a bit fluffier than usual and smelling of grass. Not so bad.
But there was still the inexperienced Vince. Since he came home, I named him Vincent, after agonizing over my heartless betrayal of Howard Moon, and my husband shortened it to Vince. All babies get a “y” at the end of their names at some stage, right? He became, periodically, Vincey, or Vincey-Cat. He quickly became husband’s favorite, so Vincey is M’s cat. (We all have our own assigned beast – the pet of my 16 year old has the sense, being a proper English cat, not to have gone out at all). He is 8 months old now. 16 year old renamed him Peanut. The babies could not say Peanut (until tonight, incidentally), so they call him “Pettitte”, as in Andy Pettitte. I am, by blood, a Boston Red Sox fan. But I love Andy Pettitte, always wanted him to sign with us but he just went back to the godforsaken New York Yankees.
Most recently M has taken to calling him Yogurt. I will not dignify that one with an image. He has had many names, so I was hoping Dotty could name him. Now I was thinking of asking her to splash across the pond and help me FIND him. Better to name a cat in person than just from photos?
My daughter and I stood out front shouting for him, me yelling “Vincent, Vincey! Here Vincey!!!” L yelling “Peanut, c’mon Peanut! Here kitty!” We’re walking down our street in the dark, it was very warm out and we were calculating the odds of finding him. We determined they were little to none – he would never respond, he would be too terrified to come out of his hiding space, etc. We went on yelling.
L: “Mom, he does not respond to ‘Vince’ – his name is PEANUT!” She’s a stubborn one.
L: “Peanut! Peanut! Here Peanut!!!”
We hadn’t been getting responses while out the first time (Buddha recovered), they hadn’t had a response the second time (Juan Castillo recovered), I was like fuck it. And so I used the name the babies call him. We were about 8 houses down now, awfully far for indoor cats.
Me: “Pettitte! Here Pettitte!”
Leah: “Mom, he’s not gonna-”
The two of us whirled. In unison: “Did you hear that??? Yeah, it’s back there!”
L: “Peanut! Peanut!” NOTHING.
Me: “Pettitte! Pettitte!”
MEOW!! MEOW!! FUCKING MEOW ALREADY!
L: “It’s that house!” Two doors back towards ours, with a small stone wall and a hilly little lawn, then a chainlink fence.
L: “Mom, keep calling him, he’s responding to you!”
Me: “Pettitte! Pettitte! Here baby!”
MEOW! I DON’T LIKE IT OUT HERE! PLEASE GET ME! MEOW!
Me: “Pettitte! Where are you, kitty?”
L had crossed the fence, I was up in the grass, MEOWMEOWMEOWMEOWMEOW.
She found him in a corner behind some yard toys and a lawn mower. M had practically been in tears. “Vincey is such a good cat…” So we would make a presentation of the shivering furball once we brought him upstairs. But Vincey was no more. Clearly he had chosen his name. And that name would be Pettitte. He is from Salem, Mass, but apparently a renegade Yankees fan. That’s ok. It’s Andy Pettite, after all, not Alex Rodriquez.
And because that image is put in clearer context by this one, for those of you who did not have the joy of watching such magic unfold live…
But we were talking about cats. So, Pettitte now has a name, there’s no denying it. So, Miss Dotty, I’m wondering whether you would peruse these photos and perhaps create a custom “Magic Cat” award. Lots of us must have cats. And they drive away a little of the madness. So, here are some images of our fourth kitty, Lady Poppet (aka Noodles, Noodle Cat or Popper-Noodles).
Well, I did it. “Dear car, please strike me down” to “Dear Dotty, please be inspired and create a special cat award”. We need all the distraction we can find…