A rose by any other name...

Why did we name our new kitty Gus?  It's a long story.  I've had various cat names throughout the years--some traditional, some not.  I had a Key Key, Kitty, Max, George, Silk, Velvet, Oberon, Annie,  Princess, Jinx, and Raz (although he was a fancy registered cat given to me who's real name was Razzle Dazzle).

My mom isn't an animal person. The only pet I was allowed to have until I was 8 or 9ish was a guppy.  Don't get me wrong, I love guppies. I have four swimming in my living room as we speak, but children love something furry that they can cuddle. I never outgrew that. Thus the string of cats above (in no particular order). I've also had 3 dogs, 4 horses, a pet chicken, and a pet possum.  I'd still have a whole menagerie if we didn't move so darn much -- and currently live in the Arctic.

So, back to Gus.  My dad's nickname was Gus.  Everyone on his side of the family called him Gus until the day he died.  When he was eight-years-old, Cinderella came out and as you know, there is a cute fat mouse named Gus Gus in the movie.  Apparently, my dad was a chubby kid, and he had large ears that stuck out (probably from a bad home haircut as much as from bad ears). So, of course, his siblings thought it would be hilarious to start calling him Gus Gus--it stuck.  There are probably a bunch of baby-boomers out there now with the nickname Gus for this very reason.

Dad is the baby in this old, and very washed out photo

Anywho, we struggled to come up with a name.  I had a whole pad of possibilities and so did my husband.  My favorites were Dash, Ollie, and Siggy.  We tried to make one stick, but he was just a Gus.  Plus, it's nice to hear the name again.  Now he is named, the nicknames don't stop. My husband can't call anything by it's given name, and poor old Gus has a few nicknames already.

Gus is a messy eater.  When you hear him it sounds like a whole passel of pigs being swilled.  He gets in there deep.  Needless to say his feeding area looks like this:

So I was complaining as I was cleaning up the hog mess the other day and my husband stopped me and said, "You know, we missed a real opportunity here."

Of course I fell for it and said, "What are you talking about?"
"We should have named him Sloppy Joe."

Ugh.  I can't shake the name.  Even when I protested that I was never going to call my new kitten Sloppy Joe, I did have an inner chuckle. Then, the other night I was holding him and he was all limp in my arms.  I said, "He really is a floppy cat," (as you may know a common nickname for Ragdolls), and Chad began to sing. "Floppy Joe, Flop, Floppy Joe." I didn't know if I wanted to laugh, sing along, or slug him.