Owl Babies Needing Names

Hasan wants some help for his friend naming a litter of kittens. Sounds like a nice thing to do on a Saturday. I am going to be working outside on this cold cold day, so I shall hope it will help distract me from frozen fingers and toes. My one suggestion so far is Owl for one of the ginger boys. They are so young and tiny they look like baby birds.

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Of Cats and Their Names

My own cat has four names on his documents, though the first is really his title. The other three made it onto the shortlist after careful consideration, which was also about guessing how his character would develop once he had settled in. I rather regret not including Rudolph, which was on the longlist, and no regrets at all about jettisoning his previous name, Facebook, without more than a horrified backward glance. He is known here as NotCat, but that is not what I call him at home. I love his name, but it isn’t universally liked. One neighbour made her disapproval clear. She felt he needed a prettier name (her words) and wondered aloud about a diminuitive that would make it, to her ears, more acceptable. I pointed out that I had chosen the name, it wasn’t one I was making do with. She sniffed a bit, but has gradually come round. Continue reading

Where Next?

Fred became Freddy, became Freddy Furrybum, Freddy Cat, Freddy Supercat, The Fredster (to my Australian friends), Ridiculously Handsome Boy, Monkey, Freddypops, Big Ears, Freddybabes (after spending a weekend with a couple who called everyone Babes), Angel Paws, Trigger (when he raced from one end of the garden to the other), Baby Bear, Little Lion, Mighty Hunter, FreddyFredFred, Treehugger (when he embraced the tree that was his favourite scratching place other than my bed), and formally and officially, Freddy the Gorgeous Boy. Online he was Cat to protect his identity and privacy. He was my cat, but he was Mother’s by extension. She loved seeing him. He didn’t judge her for losing her memory. He just accepted her and greeted her with pleasure each time they met, and treated her home as his.

I saw Mother in hospital this afternoon. She was sitting out in a comfortable chair, distractedly watching the comings and goings of staff, patients and visitors. A cup of coffee was in front of her. She doesn’t drink coffee. There was some apple juice in a container she couldn’t possibly open without getting covered in the stuff. She grasped my hand and told me Isobel was coming to see her later.
“I am Isobel.”
“You are Isobel. Oh darling. What have I done wrong?”
Often teasing works best when she is agitated as she will suddenly see the joke, smile and laugh and we can refocus.
“My goodness, where shall I start?” I grinned at her, demanded a kiss and perched on the side of her bed.
Not a good idea. I was on her wrong ear and towering above her. I went off in search of a chair. Continue reading