Be Careful What You Name Your Pet

The kitty on the milk can was named Amelia, after Amelia Earhart, because of her constant exploring. She got into EVERYTHING. Last year, just like the real Amelia, she mysteriously disappeared. Crazy, eh?

We still have her two long-haired sisters.

We named the orange and white one Lucky, because, when she was little, she survived a trip down the highway under the hood of my husband’s car. It took her twice to learn there are better places to nap. We were lucky we named her Lucky.

My husband began calling the dark one Ugly from the day she was born. We tried out different names, but none of them stuck. Her fur is thick, and fine, and there’s no real pattern to her coloring.

I’m so terribly embarrassed to say, we still can’t agree on a different name, and she remains…Ugly.

Every spring, Ugly’s thick coat gets matted in spite of my best efforts to keep it combed out. And every spring, though usually later in the year than this, I sheepishly take her to a grooming place and pay them to fix it.

The nice ladies at the Barking Lot (real name) sometimes, thankfully, forget to ask for the cat’s name. They get her all combed out and Ugly' is none the worse for the wear. Usually.

This year, Ugly’s coat got beyond me much sooner than normal. Saturday, I sent my husband to drop her at the groomer’s on his way to the store.

When he got back, he yelled in from the front door, “Ah, Hun? I got your cat here. (pause) Do you want to come see her?”

Busy, I yelled from the bedroom, “Just let her go outside on the porch. I don’t need to see her.”

(Pause)

“Ah, Hun? Can you come here?”

I flopped the basket of clothes on the bed and went to see.

When he let her out of the carrier, my mouth hit the porch floor.

Ugly had a new doo. And I lost the power of speech. By the time I got my camera, the poor thing had hidden under the van, no doubt wishing for sudden death.

“WHAT did they DO to her?”

“They shaved her,” he said, keeping his face blank. Obviously unsure how I’d take it.

“I can SEE that,” I said, incredulous. “But they know she’s an outside cat,” I went on, shaking my head. “She looks like a poodle. She’ll freeze! What were they THINKing??? What are we going to do with her? The poor thing.”

“They told me they had no choice. The hair didn’t even come apart when they cut it off. It was awful. They showed it to me. It came off in one great big sheet,” he explained, scrunching up his nose.

We both stood there. Looking at her. For a full minute.

Then, my husband’s mouth started to twitch and he couldn’t hold it in any more. He laughed till the tears ran down his face.

I started giggling. “I’m glad it was you that took her. How embarrassing.”

We stood there laughing till we both needed tissues.

When she pounces, she kind of looks like a lion. Don’t you think?

So, I guess if there is anything you can learn from our story, it’s this…

Be careful what you name your pets. If you can think of something besides Ugly, perhaps we’d better try it. For her sake. :)

For those of you who are concerned about her staying warm, she is now living (quite happily) in our garage until the weather warms up. Or she grows some hair back.