I sent Christine a list of possible names that might be right for our outside visitor, Sad Orange Kitty, who is becoming more of a permanent resident. They ranged from the visually appropriate Cheeto to the origin appropriate Rory, which means red warrior.
I arrived at these names from a careful perusal of name meanings. Other contenders included:
"Those are good, but Oliver would be good too," Christine responded almost immediately. We were doing this by e-mail.
More names
I didn't want to cave to Oliver although it seemed OK. I countered with Chester--kind of makes me think of Cheshire and is tied to Cheeto.
"That's not bad, but I still like Oliver," Christine responded. "We could call him Oliver."
"What about Rory, I wrote back. The origins are kind of cool."
"Do you want to be calling for Rory?" she wrote back. "That's kind of hard to say. But you can name him."
Back to the webI went Bow Wow.com and poured over more name origins, seeking a perfect name. Leo kind of emerged again because he struck me as being a little lion.
I polled co-workers who liked that one and took it back to Christine.
"Isn't that a little too much like Cleo?" she asked, producing in my head one of those gameshow sound effects that says "You lose." Sadly she was right. Cleo was a little cat we had who was hit by a car.
I mulled it over a few more days and searched more sites, and contemplated names while he sat on my lap on the patio.
I'd been given naming rights, I wanted to name him. I pitched a few more which Christine shot down.
"He's little and fiery, come up with something that fits him."
"Blaze was on the list," I reminded.
"I said something that fits him, not the name of a stripper," Christine retorted.
I wasn't ready to give up. I pitched a few more names, and we agreed we actually wanted him to have a human name, something dignified since cats are dignified when they're not falling asleep on top of the television and rolling off. Or trying to lie down for the third time on top of a flat panel monitor.
The struggle continues
Sad Orange Kitty got fixed and came back from the vet - they called him Tom Cat for reference purposes.
Still no name. I tried more--Caleb, Calvin, Caesar, Dash, Fritz. Christine vetoed them although had a bit of a soft spot for Calvin. But I had to agree they weren't perfect.
More web searches, more contemplation, more investigation into European name origins especially Celtic since he's a redhead and thus makes me think he's Irish like I am descended from. Nothing seemed to work or at least get past Christine.
Of course, as it all wore on I realized I didn't really have naming rights. It was all a ploy, some clever spin on reverse psychology on Christne's part.
Oliver is starting to adjust quite well to his feeding time and his collar. I call him Ollie when he sits on my lap.
I arrived at these names from a careful perusal of name meanings. Other contenders included:
- Rojo
- Dante
- Flynn
- Clancy (red warrior apparently)
- Blaze
- Cedric
- Winston
- Leo
- Fagan - he did wander up from the street but it means fiery and small
- Tango
- Tang
- Tigre
- Jabber - he talks a lot
- Shannon - means small wise one
"Those are good, but Oliver would be good too," Christine responded almost immediately. We were doing this by e-mail.
More names
I didn't want to cave to Oliver although it seemed OK. I countered with Chester--kind of makes me think of Cheshire and is tied to Cheeto.
"That's not bad, but I still like Oliver," Christine responded. "We could call him Oliver."
"What about Rory, I wrote back. The origins are kind of cool."
"Do you want to be calling for Rory?" she wrote back. "That's kind of hard to say. But you can name him."
Back to the webI went Bow Wow.com and poured over more name origins, seeking a perfect name. Leo kind of emerged again because he struck me as being a little lion.
I polled co-workers who liked that one and took it back to Christine.
"Isn't that a little too much like Cleo?" she asked, producing in my head one of those gameshow sound effects that says "You lose." Sadly she was right. Cleo was a little cat we had who was hit by a car.
I mulled it over a few more days and searched more sites, and contemplated names while he sat on my lap on the patio.
I'd been given naming rights, I wanted to name him. I pitched a few more which Christine shot down.
"He's little and fiery, come up with something that fits him."
"Blaze was on the list," I reminded.
"I said something that fits him, not the name of a stripper," Christine retorted.
I wasn't ready to give up. I pitched a few more names, and we agreed we actually wanted him to have a human name, something dignified since cats are dignified when they're not falling asleep on top of the television and rolling off. Or trying to lie down for the third time on top of a flat panel monitor.
The struggle continues
Sad Orange Kitty got fixed and came back from the vet - they called him Tom Cat for reference purposes.
Still no name. I tried more--Caleb, Calvin, Caesar, Dash, Fritz. Christine vetoed them although had a bit of a soft spot for Calvin. But I had to agree they weren't perfect.
More web searches, more contemplation, more investigation into European name origins especially Celtic since he's a redhead and thus makes me think he's Irish like I am descended from. Nothing seemed to work or at least get past Christine.
Of course, as it all wore on I realized I didn't really have naming rights. It was all a ploy, some clever spin on reverse psychology on Christne's part.
Oliver is starting to adjust quite well to his feeding time and his collar. I call him Ollie when he sits on my lap.
2 comments:
Your post made me laugh, my husband and I had the same "struggle" when we got our last dog. He is my dog, but he named him. Majority of the time I call him "little handsome", instead of Bucky, his given name. I like Ollie, but really liked Cheeto.
Thanks for dropping by. I think we probably will keep Cheeto as a nickname.
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