“Scooch” was borrowed from the made-up word Kit endearingly assigned to my residual pouch of childhood belly fat, while “Mister” was just thrown in so folks knew that he was a not-to-be-fucked-with breed of pussy. Kit and I were legally allowed to bend and twist the name as we saw fit, which led to such colorful variations as Scoocher, the Scoochinator, Scoochopolis, but everyone else had to refer to him by his full, formal moniker, Mister Scooch. Also, if you were writing him a note, it was “Mister,” not “Mr.” Kit was very particular about that.
