We’ve recently acquired two small kittens. One ginger and white, the other, the colour of an Indian restaurant carpet. Tri-colour I think it’s called. If a kitten’s marking is due to the amount of moving around he does in the womb, this one must have been a perpetual wriggler. Or had womb-fleas. The Girl named them Charlie and Lola after the Lauren Child books. Of course there was disagreement on an almighty scale.
I originally wanted to call the ginger one, Paddington. Everyone else hated this. Husband wanted Charles, not Charlie. I ask you. Charles Kitten? “No” he said. “Charles Paddington Kitten is his full name”. Why not design a crest as well? The other one I wanted to call Betty. ‘BETTY?!!!” was the outraged response. You’d think I decided to call her Myra Hindley. Or Mrs Hitler. (Although -while on the subject of cats named after dictators, I do know of an enormous cat whose owners have named him Chairman Miaow).
Anyway, after much sulking, fighting and more sulking, the kittens are called Charlie Paddington and Betty Lola. Or Charlie and Lola.
And as they’re too small to go out, I’ve discovered the joys of emptying a cat litter tray. And the sound of scuffling and scratching and squitting just as we’re sitting down to dinner.