I've Got A Name (Remembering Mowgli)

     Many people name their cats on what the pet looks like. That's how we get names like Shadow (blue or gray) or Patches (usually a calico or tortoise shell) or Snowball (usually a fluffy white). Others name their cats because of things their cats do. We once had a cat that wouldn't shut up. We named him Sounder. We didn't learn until years later that he was probably deaf.

       I had just gotten a teenage cat from the pound and wasn't sure what to name her. She was a cross between a calico and a tabby, something that is now known as a Caliby. I began like most and named her after her looks. I was going to college at the time and the night before in Economics class we had been talking about Matisse. I thought that would be the perfect name for a Caliby - Matisse. She had just about all the colors that come in a cat and was 'painted' with those colors by God. Matisse was it.

     We went to the vet before going home, Matisse and I, to make sure she was all well before introducing her to her new sister and companion, Maggie T., who herself was named after Lady Margaret Thatcher. Maggie was a stray who had her four kittens under my then neighbor's porch. I named the kittens before I named her. The neighbors called her Shadow, because she was a blue (actually gray) cat. She had two tortoise shell cats, both female. I named the more outgoing one Socrates and her sister was named Aristotle. There was a male Himalayan I named Confucius and a wild tuxedo female I called Monet, after my favorite painter. I thought to myself, what woman could have given birth to such Greatness? Only two names came to mind: Lady Margaret Thatcher and Golda Meir. Since 'Shadow' was not a gold color, Maggie T won out. Many people name their cats Maggie, which is why I made sure she had that T after her name. She wasn't just any cat named Maggie. She was Maggie T, the mother of Greatness. Although I wanted the tuxedo cat, Maggie won me over and by the time I moved, she was mine. When Matisse received a clean bill of health, we went home to meet her sister. They soon became best buddies.


     I called to Maggie T and she would come running to me, but when I called for Matisse, the new cat just looked at me. She was not responding to Matisse at all. A week after I brought the new cat into our home, she needed a name she would respond to. Someone suggested I name her after the lead character in my favorite book. Since my favorite book was "Atlas Shrugged", I called her Dagney. Maggie T came running to me, but the new cat just looked at me. Hmmm, I thought, they sound too similar. How about I name her after the author? So my new cat became Ayn. She still wouldn't respond to it.

     At work I was mulling over names. The new cat didn't respond to either of the first two names I had given her. She certainly was energetic, though. She REALLY wanted to go outside, but I wouldn't let her until she was spayed. She literally climbed the walls. She reminded me of the Jungle Boy. What was the name of the cat in the "Jungle Boy"? I asked my co-workers. They said it was Panther, but I knew that wasn't it. (I later found out it was Baghera, but after watching the movie, this cat was definitely NOT Baghera, the worrier. No, this cat was an adventurer.) This cat was the girl-cat version of the Jungle Boy.

     When I came home that night, I called for Maggie T and she came running to me. Then I called "Mowgli!" and the new cat came running to me! She looked at me with eyes that said, 'Gee, mom, it's about time you learned my name!' And for the next 14 years, Mowgli was indeed, the girl-cat version of the Jungle Boy.

                               

Remembering Mowgli (part 1)

      She chose me. I had gone to the Solano County Animal Shelter (the SPCA in Vacaville was closed at that time) to find a companion for Maggie T, a wonderful stray cat who entered my life six years prior. I was thinking about getting a black cat because I had just recently lost my Tuxedo cat, Herfy. Although Herfy hated every living thing (including Maggie) except me, Maggie missed having a companion around all day while I was at work as a clerk for Yolo Superior Court. Since the shelter closed at five each day and was open only Saturday mornings (I don't DO mornings, especially on my day off), I had to use this small window I had after being fingerprinted earlier that day for work. In any case, I was looking for a black cat.

     They had black cats. There were black cats and black kittens. I petted them all, even though I wanted to get a cat, not a kitten. I must be the only person in the world who loves cats but can't stand kittens. They are annoying. So I petted all of the black cats, but none of them had any personality. They just sat there. Some purred, some didn't. A big purr was a must for me as there is nothing more comforting to me. Herfy had a big purr and a BIG personality. I likened her personality to that of Cartman from "South Park". Because she was abused so much by both my mother and my brother, I was the only living thing she loved. One time, when my brother lived in Oregon, after my mom passed away, I went up there for Thanksgiving. I stayed in Herfy's bedroom. We were both stoked. My brother finally gave Herfy to me when she was eleven years old. He got tired of her whiny meow. I could understand as Herfy meowed whenever anyone spoke. You had to be talking to her of course because why else would you be talking?

     Back to the Animal Shelter. None of the cats in the first room seemed to care. I walked into the next rom, which was the last room that cats went before they were exterminated. Simply because no one would adopt them. Please, if you have a cat or dog, get them neutered. It is so sad to know that everyday thousands of dogs and cats are euthanized because there are too many of them. (Note: The Solano SPCA does NOT euthanize healthy pets.) There were a few black cats in the 2nd room as well, but none really jumped out at me. But there was one cat that did.

     She was seven months old. That's no longer a kitten, right? (I found out it's worse. It's a TEENAGER.) I put my fingers in the cage and scratched around her ears and she meowed. And purred. And purred some more. The purring was louder than the meowing and that was loud. She was silky soft, with striking golden eyes. As I went to look at the other cats, this calico/tabby, now known as a caliby, kept meowing as if to say, "Mom, I'm right here! No need to look at any other cats. I'm the one you want!" I could hear her when I went back to the first room. So I went back, scratched under her chin and the purr began rumbling. She wiped her whole head around my fingers, making sure only her scent was to be found.

                                                 She chose me.