We got a cat yesterday. A pure white cat with a giant plume of a furry tail. He's almost a year old and very sweet.
Z was certain that his name should be Duchess after the white cat in the Aristocats. The momma cat.
I explained to her that he is a boy and that she should pick another name. "O'Malley", she replied, "Thomas O'Malley."
Um, that's a mouthful and knowing that I would be the primary caregiver/feed provider and cuddler, I suggested that we come up with another name.
"Edmond", she said.
Could I call him Eddie? No.
Let's choose something else.
"Fine, momma. His name is Oliver, just like you always wanted."
I am not sure that I have ever wanted a cat named Oliver, but it seems pretty fitting and I was tired of battling over a name.
I made the mistake today of calling him Ollie. Apparently, that is against the house rules and will get you a serious talking to from a 3 year old.
I learned my lesson.
Oliver it is.