Don’t call him “Michael.”
It’s a respectable name, worthy of Jordans, Foxes, and one excellent Bublé.
It’s just not Mikey‘s name.
Perhaps you’ve had the unfortunate experience of getting too casual, too fast.
You hit it off so well with some Andrew, or Gertrude, or Flavian that you feel like instant friends. You have so much in common! You both collect unicorns and judge people who bite into string cheese instead of peeling it. You keep saying, “oh my gosh, you too?”
But then you go too far. You call them Andy or Gert or Flav … and all at once, you could hear a glacier crack.
“That’s not my name.”
Well, meeting Mikey is the opposite experience.
You know you should approach a new cat with caution, reverence, homage. You dare not assume this world ruler will grant you an audience. He is the precise color of French toast and looks like he is fluent in five languages. His eyes are as bright as the Earth from space.
You feel so moonstruck, you assume it is safest to stay formal.
“It is a privilege to meet you, Mr. Rosenberg. Wait, is it Dr. Rosenberg? Your Grace? Or … Michael, if I may?”
And all at once, you can hear a cat crack up.
Well, you won’t hear it, not exactly. Cats do not laugh out loud. Cats laugh with their tails and toes. Cats laugh from the corners of their eyes and the center of their tummies.
Cats laugh, and we know this because we know Mikey. And the first thing to know about Mikey is that Michael is not his name.
“Michael” is a name for an acquaintance. “Michael” is a name for a grown-up. “Michael” is hardly a name for a snuzzly, syrupy guy who only wishes he had a baseball cap so he could wear it sideways.
It was not so long ago that Mikey’s life went sideways.
Like many male cats before him, he developed crystals in his bladder, leading to a life-threatening blockage. A certain surgery saves lives. Many Michaels, Moishes, and Mortimers have recovered without incident.
But Mikey had an incident.
A glitch in the surgery caused a small side effect. If Mikey were named Michael, Marius, or Meatball Hero III, he would be embarrassed to talk about it. But Mikey is Mikey, and he is not embarrassed to talk about anything.
“I used to leak!”
He means what you think he means. He used to spill government secrets, but only the important ones, like “every cat is a genius” and “there is a strategic reserve of cheddar under Lake Michigan.”
He also used to spill urine, which is considerably less interesting.
Unfortunately, the whole urine thing was a little too interesting to Mikey’s previous people. They wanted a Michael who would not dribble. They wrote Mikey a formal letter of dismissal.
Leaky cats have few options, even if they are fluent in five languages and made of one hundred percent glory. Mikey was hours from the end. We almost missed the chance to learn his name.
But love spilled the story. Angels assembled. And, just before his big heart broke, Mikey got the last laugh.
Mikey will tell you this, because Mikey feels close to you. Mikey feels close to you, because Mikey exists, and you also exist, and that is the most astonishing thing to share in common with anyone.
I mean, have you ever really thunk about existence?
Your parents could have had some Murgatroyd or Magnolia or Marv, but instead, here you are. And to make matters more hilarious, you were born into a totally improbable world of string quartets and string cheese and a cat whose name is not “Michael.”
Someone should really leak this news, so everyone can be suitably astonished.
But there is something else you should know. There is no exit ramp off “astonished.”
You will forget that you were ever unimpressed. You are liable to start thinking that everyone, including you, might be your best friend. You may even start handing out nicknames a little too early.
Fortunately, Mikey is right on time to meet you.
“I used to leak!”
He will tell you everything, and he will laugh about it, because all that matters is how it all worked out. Mikey came to Tabby’s Place. Mikey had surgery to repair the first surgery. Not only does Mikey feel better, but now the only thing he leaks is laughter. Well, and national secrets.
Also nicknames.
Mikey already has a nickname picked out for you, but that’s between the two of you.
There’s one last thing you should know: contrary to popular opinion, things work out.
Popular opinion is always careful and formal and prudent and pinched. That’s why it is never interesting.
What is interesting is a cat in an invisible sideways baseball cap, giving you a nickname and a project.
Now you need to go make friends where friendship didn’t exist. You are going to have to be brave. You are going to have to leak more than seems wise.
You should definitely bring a picture of Mikey, so you remember to remain astonished at all times.
Just don’t call him Michael. That’s not his name.