It is the third most common question we hear at Tabby’s Place, right after “Don’t you want to adopt them all?” and “Um…I think you have something on your shirt?”
We hear it almost daily: “Where do the cats’ names come from?”
The easy answer is “everywhere.”
Cat names come from the cluttered garages in our brains, and they come from spontaneous lunchtime Grease sing-a-longs. They come from favorite aunts and obscure novels. They come from an old list of ideas. They come in the flashbulb moment when we make eye contact with a new arrival.
If a cat comes to Tabby’s Place already named, we rarely change it. The bar is high. Most reasons are invalid.
It is insufficient cause to change a cat’s name just because our Executive Director deems it “the worst name he has ever heard,” which happened three times this year alone. (Thank you, Squentin Tarantino, Kitty Purry, and Leonardo DiCatrio.)
We may change a cat’s name if we already have two other Oreos, and they have taken to bickering over which is Oreo the Greater and which is Oreo the Lesser. This is how we once ended up with a Hydrox. Had Oreo IV arrived, he would have become Store Brand Sandwich Cookie, so it is a good thing all those fellas got adopted.
We may retire a name if it has worked too many years, for too many cats, e.g. Tiger, Tigger, Lucky, and Kitty.
But, like Tom Brady and Cher, names have a way of coming out of retirement. (You will note that we continue to acquire Oreos.)
This brings us to Miss Kitty.
Luxe as cashmere, Miss Kitty does not seem suited to a common name. She is the diamond brooch your grandma wore to catered affairs, the one Gramps sold his hat to buy. She is the braided tassel on the fancy couch. She is the feast you saved up for all year, rollatini on the rooftop with a string quartet.
She is magnificent.
But it is the measure of Miss Kitty’s magnificence that she wears it lightly and shares it freely.
You know, from the instant you meet her, that our silver belle is in a class of her own. Her jeweled eyes catch the light of your spirit, even if you are hiding it under your vest.
Miss Kitty is not too important to be excited you are here, and to let you know. She hopes you will stay long enough that she can learn your name, your nickname, and the name you call yourself when no one is listening.
She hopes you will get to know her well enough that nicknames fall from your lips onto her forehead.
Soft as mink, she is a cat of size, and every ounce is essential. You would not call Miss Kitty “fat.” She has remained velveteen through threadbare years. She is weighty in the ways that matter.
Miss Kitty received her name from a family who loved her. Perhaps they called her “Miss Kitty” because it came naturally, a lilting dance of a name. A “Beatrix” or “Buttermuffin” may grow old, but a “Miss Kitty” remains a kitten.
Through forces beyond their control, Miss Kitty’s family could not keep her. But their love stitched dignity deep beneath her bones, in the place where a cat decides whether or not the world is kind.
They made it possible for her to come to Tabby’s Place, where no cat is common and every name turns to song.
Our new elderly cat had a singular serenity.
There is a peace reserved for those who know that love is real, though it may go by many names and faces.
Miss Kitty’s circumstances changed, but not her certainty. And we were certainly not going to change her name.
Where do the cats’ names come from? The easy answer is “everywhere,” but the honest answer is “home.”
Love turns to language when one word makes a friend look up.
Miss Kitty knows her name.