What's in a name? Probably way too much.

No, it wasn't in relation to his markings. Clearly, he's
more of a colon cat, at least on this side. The other flank
is a period. If you must know, staff were confused by
the style guide rules on bulleted lists and asked for
clarification, which I provided via a series of statements
about my cat, in list form. It was highly educational;
everyone now knows when to use semi-colons and also
that Bob enjoys parkour.

So, yesterday one of my staff complimented me on Bob's name during a conversation on semi-colons.

Naming a cat is hard to get wrong, no matter how wrong you get it. They are ridiculous creatures, and can withstand names like Mr. Sparkles and Stalin with equal adorableness.

My first cat was named after the hero of my favorite novel at the time, A Tale of Two Cities. Sydney was noble, courageous, and loyal, sacrificing his own life for love in the most selfless manner possible. I am, of course, speaking of Syndey Carton the character. Sydney the cat was none of those things.

You, sir, can put your own
neck under the guillotine.
After you put out some kibble.

Sydney the cat was an arrogant warlord. He attacked toes with ferocity and, while neutered, took an unhealthily aggressive sexual interest in our other male cat, Pericles. He expressed his loyalty by running away for three months in protest of my marriage. (To be fair, he was probably right about that.) And unlike that other Sydney, he lived to the ripe old age of 21.

In short, Sydney Catton did not remotely live up to his namesake--but in an odd way, he did live up to his name. He just looked like a Sydney--fluffy, elegant fur, stylish, debonair. Even when viciously sinking his teeth into your hand.

Oddly enough, his name in the animal shelter was Romeo, which given his behaviors, is a little creepy. Sydney was a much better choice.

I have wide, staring eyes.
It is possible I have hypnotized myself with them.

 Pericles was another aspirationally named cat. My ex was taking a class called "Greek Political Thought," in which he learned about Pericles, the hero of the Peloponnesian Wars. Human Pericles was a wise statesman and eloquent leader, clear thinking and strategic. Why we thought that a runty little stray tabby cat would be an ancient hero is a bit of a mystery.

Pericles was the sweetest cat you could imagine. Gentle, docile, completely incapable of leading an army of Greeks to victory, his preferred military strategy was hiding, followed closely by sleeping. When he ruptured his eardrum, the vet asked me accusingly why I hadn't noticed any changes in behavior. I told her this cat had no behaviors. He sat. He slept. He may have sat and slept in different places in the days leading up to the rupture. Or not. It really was hard to tell. When we got the parakeets, he would just sit and stare at them. You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears as his lone brain cell tried to figure them out. It was like he knew he was supposed to do something with them, but he never could remember what, and eventually he'd just turn around and walk away and go find somewhere to sit and/or sleep. He was a good cat and a good friend, and while he was in no way a charismatic Greek statesman, his gentle ways made me look at the concept of wisdom in a whole new light. There is a wisdom to patience and serenity, even to sitting and staring. In his 18 years, Pericles came to suit him.

With Daisy, the kids were finally old enough to insist on naming the new pet. I was not excited by the idea. Eleanor was obsessed with a series of books by Erin Hunter called "Warriors." It was about the epic battles of feral cat colonies. The cats in these books were named things like Sandypaws and Riverstar and Firestar. Bruce was into Nintendo, and I was also not keen on having a cat named Princess Peach or Kirby.  Betty, of course, was Betty, and was at the time naming her Barbies unpronounceable names like Denathalia and Kynessiahlala, and if I let her name the cat, none of us (including Betty) would have remembered the name five minutes later.

One of her favorite places to be is hugging my thigh.
So weird. So clingy.

So, much like the character in any story who gets to make a wish to a genie, I thought it over very carefully and posed several conditions that I thought were loophole free, thus proving that I failed to learn the important life lessons from Aladdin. (1) The name must be normal and pronounceable and spellable. (2) The name must not be a video game or book based name. They looked at me solemnly, nodded, and (the lying little liars) agreed. Eleanor thought a minute (she's the instigator) and said, "How about Daisy?" Bruce nodded. Betty ran around picking up random objects out of the front yard and said nothing recognizable.

I never read enough Warriors books to determine whether Daisy resembles her Eleanor-namesake. She's not a perky little animated princess in need of rescue, for sure. She is 16 lbs of pure muscle, a solid fighter when needed (Mom calls her Soldier Girl) and more than capable of keeping Bob in his place. She is by no means a delicate flower, but in an odd way, she is prim, respectable, and a rule follower, so the old fashioned name really suits her. Unlike Pericles, she knew exactly what you're supposed to do with birds, but she never did it because it was Against the Rules. She's the sort of cat you say "Yes, ma'am" to. 

So--Bob. The Pawsitive Karma folks named him Tut because of his natural eyeliner. Actually, that name would have suited him. He's a spoiled rotten little prince who wants to lord it over the household. All powerful in his own home, he demands meals on his own schedule, refuses to eat pure kibble, breaks things just for fun, and generally throws tantrums until he gets his way. There is nothing ordinary about him, from his long white fur to his weird eye-shaped spots.

Yep, that's him. Bob. Prince of Darkness. Mr. Sparkles. El Bob. Captain BadCatt. Mr. Fluffy Butt. Bibbity. Bubba. Fluffernutter. Furry Demon. 
When he's in trouble: Robert.

Betty was all in favor of keeping his name as Tut, but she was outvoted. Eleanor had long since moved on from Warriors and was now deeply into the Percy Jackson series. In this series, Percy convinces a titan who has stepped into the River Lethe that his name is Bob and that he's a nice titan, so Bob and Percy become friends. Later on, Bob adopts a stray zombie saber tooth kitten and names him Little Bob. In this sense, the name fits perfectly, because Bob is very mouthy. He gnaws on his hairbrush, Bruce's music stand, a letter opener, my scooter handlebars, Daisy, and pretty much all of the family. He's also prone to random fits of frantic activity and is really quite athletic. He'll run up the side of a wall or touch all four paws on a door in passing, and he used to do some amazing back flips and 360s. I've always thought he was a world-famous South American soccer player in a former life. His footwork with Christmas ornaments is impressive.

Dignity. Elegance.
And super clean privates.

But for all that, he is a Bob. It's somehow adorable that this would-be tyrant (who hides under the bed if a strange child comes to play and who escapes every day but never makes it past the front doorstep before running back inside) has a simple, human name. It helps us remind him that he's no king (although we still do his bidding).

While none of our cat names have turned out the way we intended, in every case the cat in question has made the name their own. Cats may have no use for literature or video games or ancient history, but they prove that with enough dignity, you can carry any name well--as long as you're cute and fluffy.