My little old lady Sally (Sally Forth, to be formal) usually hears “Princess” when I speak to her.
Lately I’ve been addressing Freddie Mercury (“Merc”) as “Mr. Cat” most of the time.
It seems, in fact, that every cat I’ve ever had has accumulated one or more nicknames, some of which were astoundingly insulting. Spoken with the sweetest of tone, of course – the reprimanding screeches are usually their full names.
I suspect they don’t care as long as they get their usual allotment of affection and food.
I often refer to Bella as Babes or Bee. She answers to any of the three the same, meaning it depends on whether or not I am rubbing her or opening a can of food.
Taz was usually called Tazburger. Ziva is generally called CAT and only when she’s scratching something she shouldn’t. Like it matters. Like they’d listen.
The boys don’t really get called nicknames. They are, for the most part, Caelan and Tango. Cheddar, OTOH, has a few. Princess when she is on my chest on her back wanting a belly rub, Lit’tle Girl (complete with glottal stop) most other times. Occasionally Stinker because she is still a kitten and comes with the smelly poop option factory installed. All know their names and respond individually when called. Sorta. If they feel like it.
Rachel is usually referred to as “the old lady”. I call her Rachel, or Ray Ray, or Cat.
The two kittens are collectively called “the kittens” or “the boys”.
Meringue is addressed as Merry, or Cookie, or Stinky (although he’s gotten much better at cleaning his butt) or " my favorite tripping hazard", or sometimes just “Ow!” (He loves to be lifted to a shoulder, but it hurts when he jumps off.)
Pippin is called Pippin, or Pip, or Pipster, or Soft Kitty. Or sometimes as “my little tripping hazard”. Yes, there’s a theme.
Harvey = Harvey
Tonka = Tonka
Creamsickle = Creamsickle
Goo = Goo. (Catmom also calls here ‘Kitty Girl’.)
Abbey = Abbey, Abbey Dabby, or sometimes Abigail or Abs. (Catmom also calls here ‘Kitty Girl’.)
Maisie is our big ole mature cat. Alternately Maisels, Large Cat, Old Lady, Cat One.
The younger cat is named Annie which is technically short for Anathema, but no one ever calls her that with one exception: If I call her Annabelle, my wife will protest that Annie is short for Anathema and then I say “That’s not happening”. More commonly, just Annie, Small Cat or Cat Two.
I am unashamedly silly when talking to the cat (although I do draw the line at baby talk), so Duncan gets “Dunks”, “Dunklepunk”, “Dunkle le Punkleschmunk”, or, when he’s decided his portion of the bed is right in the middle, “goddamn cat”.
Our cat’s “official” name is Wowzer. He says “wow” a lot. But I always call him Wowbagger. I wanted that as his official name but was overruled by the Mrs.
Recently, I found the cat lounging, all blissed out, on my wife’s side of the bed. The bed is a fancy electric one and has a ‘vibrate’ mode. The bed was vibrating, and I couldn’t figure out why until I realized the damn cat had laid down on the bed remote control, and set it to vibrating.
The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn’t just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I’m as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there’s the name that the family use daily,
Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo, or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey—
All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter—
But all of them sensible everyday names,
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that’s particular,
A name that’s peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum—
Names that never belong to more than one cat.
But above and beyond there’s still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover—
But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular name.
Ours is easy. Her name is “kitty”. It’s spelled Q’itih, because that’s how my brain works, but she doesn’t know that. She was named “Kitty-Kitty” by the little girl who owned her before us. Our last cat was “Vira” (veer-uh), short for Viralata, which is Brazilian slang for a street person. It translates to ‘mutt’ or ‘one who dumpster dives’.
There’s no doubt that cats have excellent hearing, and are sensitive to sounds that might be important to them: possible food, predators etc.
But I don’t think they process sounds in any way we might call language or names?
Ours do not seem to respond to any names, but they know the call to dinner…
