I’ve had a lot of cats over the years. After I also had two kids, naming the cats became more of a game.
There were lots of cats named for their colors, of course. Butterscotch and Tuxedo and Sheba, etc. Bitmap was a beautiful ticked tabby while her brother Pixel was all black. Snowflake would have been invisible in the snowdrift outside the hospital where I was working if he hadn’t opened his little pink mouth to mew, and be taken home. (lots of ferals came around there because the kitchen staff gave them the leftovers from patients’ dinners). He grew into a fine muscular tom with a penchant for hunting rabbits.
I named one cat Gingham because he wasn't quite a calico.
When there were groups of kittens they got related names. We had Zip, Zap, and Zoom, the kenderoops (figure that one out if you liked Dragonlance.) They would CHARGE down the hall of the trailer, CAROM off the bedroom door, (all four feet horizontal, I swear) CHARGE back up the hall, CAROM off the kitchen cabinets, repeat, repeat, repeat. Most pronounced evening crazies of any cats we ever had.
One batch born under the trailer got mythological names. It started when one boy came out with one eye still gummed shut. That was Odin. The girl who came out with cobwebs on her head was Arachne. The noisy one was Thor. The pretty one (oh, she knew it!) was Freya. And the little gray girl was Persephone, a sadly predictive name.
A trio of little white toms were offered a saucer of milk. One put his whole head into the saucer and when I laughed and said “he takes his drinking seriously”, well, we had just watched The Three Musketeers recently, so there they were, Porthos, Athos, and Aramis.
Pandora earned her name fair and square. She would find trouble to get into if she had to dig or climb or jump for it. I put a fly strip in the most out-of-the-way spot on the ceiling I could find. Nope. Out the door flies Pandora in a panic, trailing half the fly strip stuck to her tail. She also introduced me to eavesdropping on interspecies conversations. She knew perfectly well she wasn’t to harm the chickens (some of whom may have outweighed her), but she just couldn’t resist creating a flutter and squawk scene. Here was the conversation, in animal and English.
Pandora {wiggle butt, lash tail} “I’m gonna make that hen squawk!”
Hen {side eye, continue pecking bugs} “Oh, you again. Whatever.”
Rooster {step slowly into line-of-sight}
{draw up to full impressive height}
{rouse feathers, stare straight at cat} “Don’t. Even. Think. About. It.”
Pandora {suddenly very interested in “Who, me? Wouldn’t dream of it.
her grooming} Haha. Whatever gave you that idea?”
Rooster {watch performance for several
seconds} {shake out and settle feathers} {Stalk
off after hen who has moved on} “HUMPH. See that you don’t”
Kittens tend to get dropped off at my farm nowadays. Someone will just drive by, slow down, open a door and toss. (#$$%^##@). YES, a farm needs mousers, but !!!!
I tame the little furfolk, get a rabies shot, get the girls spayed, and see what happens. A tragically small percentage of them figure out the road. Some will be with me for years. Some arrivals are memorable, though. One kitty took a deal of taming. Had gotten to the point where I could stroke it gently while it was eating, when I got the brainwave to wonder if it was a boy or a girl, and tried to pick it up to check.
:::::::::::::::: (those are tooth and claw holes)
When I got the bleeding stopped, I dubbed the kitten ICBM, for its demonstrated ability to go ballistic. Icy turned out to be a girl, and, eventually, a cuddler.
Our most recent acquisition by this method is Xena the Warrior Princess. Jen’s dog Mili found her in the weeds on the north end of the property.
This is Mili. (it means beloved in Russian.)
The kitten was the size to fit in the palm of my hand.
She was all hisses and claws, totally on fire in self defense.
Mili is a GOOD dog. She would never hurt a baby kitty. Babies are to be licked and nuzzled and watched over. She was completely nonplussed by this reception. So she sat on the kitten and barked for humans to come take charge of the problem.
Xena also perforated Jen’s hand, but eventually settled in as our resident rodent control engineer. She likes to be praised for her hunting prowess.
When a second kitten showed up that year, I wanted a royal-ish name to match. Kitty was gray, so Lady Jane Grey it was. RIP, another road casualty. Xena, fortunately, has taken this to heart and avoids the road religiously.
If any more kittehs arrive next season, they will probably get royal or warrior names to match.
How did your furfolk get their names?
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