Mean Ol' Ms Baby Doll

The Naming of Cats
from Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats
by T. S. Eliot

The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter, 
        It isn't just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there's the name that the family use daily,
        Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey--
        All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
        Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter--
        But all of them sensible everyday names.
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular,
        A name that's peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
        Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
        Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum-
        Names that never belong to more than one cat.
But above and beyond there's still one name left over,
        And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover--
        But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
        The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
        Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
                His ineffable effable
                Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.

The white cat arrived with the name of Tinker, which might have been appropriate when she was a kitten but didn't seem right now. I told Chris we could pick another name. After all, a cat doesn't come when you call so she wouldn't be confused if we changed it.

“What should we call her?”

“Oh, whatever,” I said.

And Whatever was her name, at least for the time being and on the veterinarian's records.  

She really was a beautiful cat. She kept her white fur immaculate. I tried to make friends with her using treats. In a soft voice, I used endearments and one of them was “Baby Doll” and that became her next name, but over the years, as her bad temper never improved, I began calling her “Ms Baby Doll” because she seemed to be a liberated cat who didn't seem to need us at all. She merely tolerated us at best. We were her staff.  

No matter what treats I gave her, no matter what kind of cat food I gave her, it made no difference. She was likely to bite me whenever I tried to pet her, drawing blood. Band-aids were a part of my life. I kept trying for eighteen years and in a way, was amused. I have a warped sense of humor.  She fit right in. 

The final name that stuck with her to the end of her days was “Mean Ol' Ms Baby Doll”.  If she had a personal name, she never told us what it was.