There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
How I got my name
My good pal Millie has started a meme on how we kitties got our names. My story goes back a long time......
You see, my real name is Butterball. No, its not coz I came to my forever home the day before Thanksgiving. No, its not coz I had a cute lil' belly when I was a kitten. It goes farther back than that.
When mine mombean was a little girl she used to spend a few weeks every summer on her Grandfather's farm in Rhode Island (click on the link to learn a little about the state), and there were 3 kinds of cats on the farm.
At the top was Smokey a gray pure breed Persian who lived in the house (mostly the living room). He was fat and spoiled and never went outside. He was cranky-hissy and did not like little girls. He would run and hide when he saw mine mombean or her sister.
At the bottom there were countless (every year mine mombean would try to count them, but she never could) feral and semi-feral "barn cats". This was a working horse farm and the barn cats were an essential part of the functioning of the farm. They kept the field mice and critters out of the horse's feed-grain, the tack room and hay loft. They had the run of the barn and fields and there was always a big bowl of water that was filled twice a day when the horse's water was filled, and kept where it wouldn't freeze in the winter. They also had crunchies to eat, but as Eric and Flynn will tell you fresh caught mouse is darn good to eat! They slept in the hay loft out of the rain, cold and snow. As hard as she tried she could never catch and pet and play with these kitties.
But, in the middle was Butterball "the kitchen cat", a big ginger and white man-cat. He would go outside and catch a mouse now and then, but mostly he napped on a chair in the kitchen (he wasn't allowed in the rest of the house) where he could see all that was going on and get choice tidbits like fresh caught Bass from the pond and fresh milk along with his crunchies. He was kind and gentle and liked to have mine mombean pet him, hold him in her lap and even carry him around. He would purr and purr and never got hissy or ever tried to scratch her. She would even play dress up with him and put hats and doll clothes on him but he never got upset; even though you could tell by the nicks on his ears and a scar on his nose that he wasn't the type to run from a fight. Oh, sometimes he would have enough with a little girl's play, and go out side to nap under a bush in the yard or some secret spot. Mine mombean and her sister made up lots of nick names and songs for him. the best was "B-ball, baby and I don't mean maybe!"
He was well loved by all and lived to be a very old cat before he went to the bridge.
When mine mombean first saw me she thought of her old friend from long ago when she was little. So, to honor a grand cat she named me Butterball after him.
Of course, I was just an 8-week old kitten and full of the kind of mischief a kitten is full of. I had a lot to learn about, well, everything! Like not to chew and play with electric cords, not to unroll all of the toilet tissue or knock over the trash can in her study or scratch on th Futon. I heard the word "NO!" a lot. First it was, "Butterball, NO!" but by the time she said all that I had run away. So, then she tried calling me "B-Ball", then "B-B" and "Bees" and finally she said "Beezer". We both knew right away that its was the perfect name for me, and I've been Beezer ever since.