Three animals live with us. Two dogs and one cat. The cat lives indoors (ala Babe) and has “outside privileges,” whereas the dogs stay outdoors and have “inside privileges.”

Before I was married, I had a cat that loved no one but me. Although she did come to stand Captain Sarcastic and he did come to love her, that cat’s love for me was a jealous love. It was great! Then she died, and CS and I bought a shop and I decided it needed a shop kitty. And I remembered that a friend at work had a cat he and his wife had been caring for in their neighborhood and for whom they’d been attempting to locate a permanent home. She became the shop kitty.

She’s a bit of a small cat, but very street wise. She’s a tortoiseshell with three colors–black, cream and a touch of white on her tail. The black and cream colors form a straight line down her nose–thus, while living on the streets, a six year old dubbed her “One.” And we are told that her previous owner (just prior to living on the streets) called her “Sassafras.” This woman was not the cat’s first owner. So there is at least one other name that she’s been called.

When we agreed to take her, I began to think of new names. As much as I hate changing an animal’s name, I really did not like the names One or Sassafras. Sassafras in particular irked me. What kind of name is this for a cat? In New Orleans, you get a lot of pets with names like Dixie and Gumbo and the like. This was in the same vein–Sassafras is the plant from which file powder is made–the thickening agent for gumbo. She was no Sassafras. So we decided on “Gonzo” ala Hunter Thompson. But that never really took. Then a customer came into the shop, saw her and screeched, “Petina!” “Do you know her?” we asked. She did not–but to her, this was a Petina if ever she’d seen one. We vetoed Petina to stay with One.

But being small, I started to call her Peanut as a nickname. Then she got sick and we had to take her to the vet. When I called to make the appointment, they asked her name. I froze. Sassafras, One, Gonzo, Petina, Peanut. Who is she? I blurted out Peanut. How stupid is Peanut for the name of a cat? How unoriginal! But Peanut she’s become. For us. In the end, it seems to me that a cat who has at least five names really has no name at all. I mean, maybe she herself knows her real name, and that’ll have to do for us.