On the Misnaming of Kittens

Cascabel and Cayenne

The foster kittens now have names: Cayenne (the black and white), Cascabel (the cream and grey).  We deliberately chose spicy peppers for names, because the shelter said this litter was a bit hot-tempered, inclined to hiss and growl.  This was certainly true when we brought them home a week ago.  I’m happy to report that they don’t hiss at me and Jim any longer.  Although they do hiss at strangers, they are also willing to give those strangers a chance to become friends, especially if those strangers want to cuddle.

(Side note: Cascabel is about twice Cayenne’s size. This isn’t just an artifact of the photo.)

Last week, I mentioned that we were being very careful to select names that would sound different from each other, as well as not sounding anything like those of our three resident cats—Persephone, Mei-Ling, and Roary.  The initial sound was less important than overall sound.  (Example Sunny and Honey would not do, although Peter and Pam might.)

Why do we care?  After all, “everyone” knows that cats don’t know their names, not like dogs.  Well, “everyone” is wrong.

In my experience in something like forty years of living with cats, not only do cats know their names, they also know the names of their housemates, and their nicknames as well.  And, yes, I have lived with cats who come when called by name.

I learned this a short time into my journey as a cat person.  I rapidly acquired cats (all some form of rescue or shelter pet) in my first year out of college, when I set up on my own to go to grad school.  My fourth cat was a kitten from a litter born to a cat my college roommate, Kathy Curran, had taken after I rescued her (the cat, not Kathy) from the service alley of the apartment building in which I lived.

My cats at that time were named for Celtic mythology (Gwydion, Nuada, Arawn).  The kitten became Manawyddan.  However, since he was ridiculously small for such a long name, he was usually called “WeeBop” or “kitten.”  Right about the time I graduated, Cat Five came to stay.  He was an impossibly tiny kitten I named Taliesin. 

Shortly after Talli came, I noticed that WeeBop was acting depressed.  He was not threatened by Talli, nor did he seem to dislike him in any way.  In fact, all the adult cats rather doted on this scrap of kittenhood.

Then it hit me.  Not only was I tending to call Talli “kitten”—after all, WeeBop by now was a couple of years old—but I was more likely to call WeeBop by his full and impressive name, which he seemed to have grown into.

That was human thinking.  For WeeBop, not only had one of his names (kitten) been usurped, but he was no frequently “in trouble.”  Why did he think this?  Well, like many humans, I only used his full name when I wanted to get his attention because he was into something he shouldn’t be.

(How many of you were only called by your full name and middle name when your parents were annoyed?)

Once I realized this, I started referring to Talli as “the baby cat,” and WeeBop as “kitten.”  The horrible full name was only used when Bopper was in trouble, which honestly wasn’t often.

Tranquility reigned, and I am now very careful as to the naming of kittens.

Back to working on my yet untitled novel…  The naming of novels and stories, is also a trial!