Cats, like any form of babies or newcomers to the household, need names right away - probably before you’ve had a chance to figure out what name would fit their personality. Certainly that was the case with Zoey, my now-10-month-old kitty.
Zoey is a fine name, and I’m happy with it. But if I could name her now, knowing what I do about her behavior? I’d call her “DQ” - short for “drama queen.” Because she is one. If your soft, sock-footed toes accidentally graze just the tiniest bit of her tail, definitely no serious pressure or potential injury, she meows like The World Is About to End. If her food dish isn’t full of not just any cat food, but her preferred catfood, once again she meows like The World Is About to End.
I could say more, but you get the idea. How about your feline master?
Bear, my male Siamese is just that, a bear. Cranky when awakened from a nap. So that worked out.
My female Siamese is Meeko. It doesnt really fit her. It is part of her pedigree name. But I really can’t think of nothing better. She’s not as cranky as her brother. But very Prima Donna-like. They are both oh so high and mighty. Aloof and obviously higher in society than their lowly caretaker (me). I’m a slave to their whims and pecadillos.
Maybe I would name them King and Queen. If they would let me.
My cat has a name that is currently a very popular girl’s name. That was already her name at the shelter from which I adopted her, and that is the name that belongs to her. <3
Wait, let me rephrase that. I have owned many cats and I always teach them to come when called. If I only have one cat, I think the cat knows its name. But if I have multiple cats, if I call one, I get all of them. Sometimes the dog, too.
My dog knows his name. Both cats come when I call either one of them. Sometimes all three of them show up when I call the dog, too.
Maybe this is because we don’t know their real secret cat names.
To answer the OP, I have two kittens I got in November. My husband and son named them Smudge and Simba.* At the time, Smudge weighed 4 pounds and Simba weighed 7 pounds so I thought they should be called Smudge and Pudge. Now Smudge weighs 10 pounds and Simba weighs 12 pounds–at least (they will go to the vet and get weighed again on Weds.) so Pudge would have been a good one.
*Because they thought I was overrepresented in the naming of family pets. I would have called them Mingus and Julius. Now that I know them, Crazy Mingus and Lazy Julius would also work. Crazy Smudge and Lazy Simba. Hm. Does not have the same ring.
I think my pets all come when I call because they are hoping for treats. Now if I wanted say, my Beagle to come alone I usually get her alone. My Yorkie does not respond to her name or commands, she’s kinda dumb. Like really impaired*. She gets it when the group is moving and joins in. My cats would never lower themselves to come when called unless food is involved. I usually come to them when called. See how that works?
Vet said she was possibly lacking oxygen at birth and is mentally disabled. I love her, regardless.
My Emily responds to her name, as well as to Emmy, Emmy-Ki, Emmy-Jo, or Miss Em. As long as it has that “Em” part, she knows I mean her in particular. I realize that I don’t have any nicknames for her that don’t play off her given name, so it must be suitable.
I’ve called Charley by so many nicknames since she was a baby that she probably thinks her name is Panda-bear, Dollbaby or Mummy’s Booful Girl. I’m making a concentrated effort now to use her name so she at least recognizes it and acknowledges that I’m speaking to her. It works best if I combine it with a nickname: Charley-doll, Charley-bear. Her given adoption-papers name, Charlotte, is entirely out of the question, since I’ve only ever called her that when I’m mad at her.
I’ve tried to do the same with Annie, since I’ve been calling her Piglet or Small Kitty far too often and I don’t really want to stick her with either of those nicknames for the rest of her life.
Tests while I’m typing indicate that, when called by their respective names, Emily will actually come to me, Charley will look up and give me a long, slow blink, and Annie won’t even twitch her ears.
I don’t think I had any idea how very appropriate my Chibi’s name would be.
She’s a tiny little, short-legged, squashed face thing, and she does look like a caricature of a cat.
And yes, when I call “Chib-Chib” she comes running, but that could be because I tend to save a certain tone of voice for interactions with the cat. I could probably call any name in that tone of voice and have a pretty good shot of getting Chibi to come.
Our cats perk up or visit in response to their names. Their Legal Cat Names are still a good fit, because we observed them for awhile before naming them. However, they are referenced by a number of additional names, which they don’t recognize, such as “Zabu” and “Jah Rasta.”
Gosh, I really don’t know what I’d name Noir Kitty. His original name was given to him by a friend of the Big Crow’s and means something like “stupid person” in the language of her country. I didn’t want to call him that and just started using Kitty Cat instead. That evolved into Noir Kitty due to a song the Big Crow sometimes sings when he calls him in to the kitchen to eat.
Noir’s personality has evolved, as well. Gone are the days when he was frightened of every tiny movement or sound and couldn’t be touched for love or money. He’s truly happy now and has developed various ways of seeking attention for play and petting, which occurs quite often.
My mom’s current outdoor cat is named “Ms. Mousey”. It’s one of those names like Smith or Cooper that originates with a profession: She’s a professional rodent-control contractor, and worked to pay the rent on the space beneath the playhouse in the back yard. At the time, she was skittish about humans, and the independent-contracting-and-rental was the extent of the interaction.
Nowadays, though, we often refer to her as the Ambush Petador. Whenever anyone comes out any door of the house, she’s there waiting, and will not let you go until you’ve pet her. She literally won’t even let anyone feed her until she’s been petted.
Her brother also hangs around a lot, but he’s still shy of humans, and has never gotten any name other than “Li’l Brudder”.
Of other previous cats: One was officially “Origami” when we got her, but everyone ended up calling her “Baby”, and that’s what stuck. Objectively, the only way it fit was that she was the youngest of the three cats we had at the time (which didn’t stop her from thinking that she was the oldest cat’s mother), but it was clearly and obviously her name. She was somewhat insane, could meow with herself in three-part harmony, flowed to exactly match the shape and size of any floor heating vent, and understood the Doorknob Principle (but lacked the agility to make use of that knowledge).
Diamond Lil was named for the distinctive marking on her face, which she retained for life, and so she retained the name. She was usually just “Lil”, though.
And Spunky definitely had the right name. When we brought her in, we thought that her rear legs were broken. It turned out that she was actually born without any bones in them… and had been living that way on her own for at least six months. That was enough to tell us that that cat was tough, and she was: She quickly established herself as the Supreme High Empress of All she Surveyed.
Our late cat, who passed away last year, came to us with the name “Barney,” which was the result of the rescue group who had him originally finding him living in a barn. That name went away immediately, replaced with “Kola” (a name my wife got off of a map).
Within a year or two of adopting him, he received the nickname “Schpink.” It was a nod to the comic strip “Mutts,” in which Mooch the cat has a lisp, but also became a term which my wife and I adopted for his rambunctious behavior – “you’re being a schpink!”
He answered to both names, and while we never formally changed his name, I think we used “Schpink” a lot more than we used “Kola.”
I called the late Lucia “Poodle Paws” for awhile, after she’d been in the hospital for pancreatitis; the vet had shaved her forearms, but left her forepaws from the wrist down with all their fluffy white fur.
