I’ve been holding off on posting about our new addition to the family. I wanted to make sure I gave an accurate description of her disposition, which required taking some time to get to know her. I can aptly say that we have gotten to know our furry feline quite well over the last month and a half that we’ve had her.
Her name is Daisy, although I have submitted to the fact that this name will be used predominantly for official verification purposes. Around the house, she is lovingly referred to as “Kitty.” I’m not sure how the name caught on, only that she was coined “Kitty” by my stepmother who cared for her until we could retrieve her from Texas. She spent several weeks with my stepmother, during which we would receive photographic updates on her well-being, always with a caption including her pseudonym.
While waiting for the feline exchange to happen, I daydreamed about possible names for her; slipping a trial name in with the constant stream that I call out when rounding up our pups. It was important to me that all the names be harmonious, so that I could reprimand all three of them in one fell swoop. Still, in the hush of the night, or through scandalous text messages (our Little Bean had no idea about the kitten) Matt and I always referred to her as “Kitty.”
Although touting a view that our kitten’s name should be chosen democratically, with every family member’s say included, I worked on how I may convince each member to agree with my chosen name. Daisy, it seemed, was a perfect choice, fitting all of my personal criteria. I was on a mission, I resolved . . . I would lobby for my name. To my delight, convincing Matt required no persuasion at all– he’s a go-with-the-flow kind of guy. Next, I had to tackle the most clever and stubborn of five year olds.
Early one Saturday morning, I packed up our car with overnight bags for Wichita, and Kaya and I stole away to meet what was known to her as “our mystery date.” During our 5 hour trip I dropped hints about where we may be going, and who we were about to meet. Before we pulled in to our hotel, she guessed who we were going to see, but could not, for the life of her, figure out why. As we all stood in the hallway, perched to enter our room with video cams at attention, my stepmother opened the door to reveal a tee-niny kitten with the smallest of mews. Kaya oohed and awed over the bumbling creature, shocked that it was to be her very own. On multiple occasions throughout our weekend, it was evident that she couldn’t quite grasp the concept of being able to take her kitten home, and I’m not sure that it truly settled in until she was wrapped in Kaya’s arms in the back of our car.
During our stay in Wichita, and throughout the trip home, I inserted the idea that Daisy would be the perfect name for our new pet. Shockingly, she agreed. I was going to get my way, with little more than a nudge on my part. But fate had something else in mind, as it almost always does. Not only did my family members fail to call our kitten Daisy, but so did I! Somehow, over the course of a few weeks, while I was scheming names, “Kitten” had just sort of stuck in our heads. Even Kaya caught on.
A month and a half in, and I’m sold on the accidental name. It’s a perfect name for a cat that’s convinced she’s a part of the dog pack, though we all agree that “Daisy” is more fitting for vet visits. Having a kitten in the house has been an adjustment, but it’s so fun to observe her curious nature. She delights in games under the covers, and her time outside with the family is by far her favorite thing to do. She’s mischievous and demanding, as most cats are, but I think the whole family can agree that we couldn’t picture our family without her. She truly is right at home.