Wasteland and marshland

one following the other

future uncertain.


What’s in a Name?


Well.  No.  Not until now.  It is, however, an interesting question, given some of the names people assign to their pets.  I recently met a sweet little kitten named “Toast” (because of his markings).  A neighborhood cat goes by the name of “Cygnus”, which suits him nicely since his fur is a deep black.  My own cats have, over the many years that I have lived with various cats, mostly chosen their own names.  There are, of course, exceptions.  Some never really told me who they were–hence a wonderful girl I called Kitty for a long time, then moved on to Putter since she did a lot of puttering.

But, now I do have to wonder what these many cats called me.  Hopefully something like WonderMom, or Beautiful Lady.  Maybe more like FoodGiver or LitterBoxCleaningLady.  I expect, though, as I mull over my past and present cats, the answer might be BigFoot.

While it is quite true that I sport fairly large feet (hence the beautiful toes!), that may not have been the reason for the name.  Actually, sometimes I trip over my feet, and sometimes cats cross my path just as I trip, and sometimes it may seem like it was not an accident (but it WAS an accident caused by over-large feet!).  Tails may have gotten in the way as I quick-stepped to avoid the larger part of the cat.  This may have happened in any given cat’s lifetime, although probably not all of them.  And I always apologized and gave extra treats and brushes and murmured how bad I felt that they did not move that tail quite far enough and I lost control of my feet.  I am a very good cat-murmurer.  Not that I have a lot of tail-step accidents.  I murmur to my cats all the time; it is like purring.

In any case, maybe they all did forgive me, and BigFoot is not my name in cat language.  Maybe, indeed, it is Murmur.  That would be lovely.