We have a cat.
Zoey wanted to name the cat Zoey. I thought that might be confusing as cats and 3 year-olds tend to get into similar types of trouble. “Zoey, get off the table!”, “Get out of the trash, Zoey!”, and of course, “Zoey, don’t drink out of the toilet!” It would just be to0 easy for Zoey to be all, “O000h. I thought you were talking to the cat, not meeeee.”
So naming the cat Zoey was nixed. As was Pink Princess (Zoey’s second suggestion). I was voting for Happy or Daisy but was turned down on the grounds of being “too perky.” Which is not something I am often accused of.
Demetri finally came up with the name Tikka. The conversation went like this:
How about Tikka?
Yeah. That’s good — like Tikka Masala!
Yeah. I wonder what “Tikka” means . . .
It probably means “spicy”, but we should look it up before we name her.
Ok. Let’s do it when we get home.
Except that we never remembered to look it up and just started calling the cat Tikka. The name has a nice ring to it and we all like the Indian dish. So there you go.
For three months we have been calling our cat Tikka. Last week I finally looked it up. It means “pieces of meat.” Yes, we named our cat Pieces of Meat. Which is what Demetri and my formerly good friend, Courtney, now call her. Courtney leaves the house and says, “Bye Pieces of Meat.” Demetri comes home and says, “Hello, good little Pieces of Meat.” And I open the refrigerator and see this:
It’s all rather distressing — until I remember we had Tikka Masala last week and froze the leftovers. (But I still look around and check on the, um, liveliness of our cat.)
Tikka generally seems rather displeased. Or maybe she’s just unimpressed with us.
I would be too, Tikka. I would be too.