We all have names for our pets, including some very strange things we sometimes say to them. Have you ever speculated as to what your pet calls you in its own mind? I thought about this the other day and arrived at the conclusion that Piewacket the cat most definitely has a name for me. He uses it all of the time. I believe is goes something like this:
HEY, YOU WITH THE FOOD!
With Zen, my wolf hybrid, it is entirely a different matter. He worships the ground I walk on and I am of the opinion that no finer animal has been born to the face of this earth (with the minor possible exception of his deceased predecessor, Bear Dog). With Zen, there can be no doubt that I am referred to as the:
STROKEMEISTER
He has been so well behaved over last few years that our typical interaction consists of me giving him massive amounts of strokes and petting for doing his job so well. He guards the house, harasses the cat on command and generally keeps himself out of trouble. It’s hard to ask more of any animal that voluntarily gives the cat grief upon request. Even more hilarious is watching Piewacket come right up to Zen and rub his face against Zen’s snout. The two are very attached to each other, but I’m still glad that Zen is willing to let Piewacket know that his are not the keys to the kingdom.
Weimaraners, known (at least amongst Weim owners) for their strange half-howly/grumbly vocalizations, actually do talk. Mine calls me rwoo-ROO-roo-roo.
I’m sure that Annie, one of our cats, calls me “Hey You With The Food,” too. She’s pretty insistent at times, which is why I think that’s what she’s calling me, although I prefer to think she’s really calling me “Wonderful and Great Provider of All that is Tasty and Good.” Hey, I can dream, can’t I?
I think that Denver, our oldest cat, prefers to call me something like, “Master Masseur.” The only times he says anything to me, he wants a full-body massage. And he usually gets one.
Shiloh is our youngest cat. The only time she ever speaks is when somebody picks her up, which she hates. At that point, she lets loose with a stream of meeping–she has yet to produce a full-throated “meow,” and “meeps” are the most she seems to be willing to do. But the meeping tells me that to Shiloh, I’m probably known as “That @#$% Who Keeps Picking Me Up.”
Spoons, while preparing this thread, I needed to check the link and couldn’t help but start reading some of the wonderful replies concerning the wacky things people here call their pets.
I recently saw your thread about Frisco’s passing and was brought up short when I stumbled across your post in the earlier thread (two years ago, almost to the day). I’m going to place it here in loving memory of your little buddy. I hope you do not mind my doing so.
What else would you call a woman who is always singing strange, made-up, rambling songs about you and who picks you up and blows raspberries on your tummy for no apparent reason?
One of my dogs, called Praxiteles, will let out this happy howl when she’s glad to see me or is just being silly and wants attention away from the other dogs, and I’ve trained her to say, rather clearly, ‘Haarrooolllld,’ which is my partner’s second name.
I’d forgotten about that thread, and rereading that post made me laugh. Something I needed to do. Problem was, the smoke from my cigar got in my eyes while I read it, and it became hard to see. (Yes, that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.) But I made it through.
Seriously, thanks for reposting that. And thank you for the nice thoughts in my other recent thread. They meant a great deal to Spoonette and myself.
Oh, that’s good! They’re rolling their eyes as they say it, right?
I guess I’m “mommy” - and our littlest, a 4-month Siamese mutt, has to call my 8-year old son “best friend,” as they are inseparable. I’ve never seen a cat so in love with a human, and am quite jealous.
