I recently moved into a new apartment with my hetero-lifemate Tara. Pets are allowed in the complex, and there are a few cute ones I regularly pet near my steps. One is big, orange, and fluffy. Said cat caught the eye of Nate—while admiring this prize, I said he reminded me of my first cat, Garfield.
To which, of course, Nate guffawed. Garfield? What was my problem? What's up with the utter lack of creativity?
I chose to name my flaming orange cat Garfield, but please, give me a break; I was five. Creativity hadn't entered into the realm of pet names. I was too busy pretending there were ghosts called cocoabeans living in the filbert tree.
So, Garfield: totally unoriginal. Shortly following his adoption, we picked up a kitty who loved to eat french bread: Cathy.
You may notice a disturbing trend here... these people can name their pets only after characters in the Comics section.
True. But of all comics characters, Cathy? Seriously? That comic sucks! It was never funny or endearing!
Cathy is a woman. She likes chocolate. She likes to shop and can't control her compulsive spending. She has PMS. Life sucks. Cathy is a bitch.
It's really too bad I was making myself sick looking at these comics. I know more shining examples of Cathyness exist.
What was my point? Oh—fuck Cathy. If I ever find children and decide to call them my own, I'm keeping them the hell away from the comics section when it comes to naming our cats.
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