It’s been five years since we had a kitten in the house. The other two cats are not pleased, but they seem to be adjusting. Gambit is not an exact match to the departed Splinter; he has a light orange spot on his head and he doesn’t bark. But he does have the same snout shape and pink ears.
The young miss, naturally, is delighted.
After a nod to Harry Potter with the naming of the two most recent pets, Hermione the rabbit and Ginevra the cat, we had to get back to some serious man-names here. I think Splinter was one of the best names I ever came up with. The rest of the family was unimpressed with my selections from the moons of planets (Kiviuq: thumbs way down), the chemical elements (Lithium, or worse, Astatine), or cities in Australia. Hobart was close, but like Astatine, the shortened form of the name would cause some problems.
“I can live with Gambit,” my daughter conceded.
In the old days, my wife named her cats after royalty. King and Dutchess (sic) were my step-pets when we got married. Our third cat, Count, still with us, is a hale and hearty fourteen. Splinter gave us a good transition from nobility to bridge, as after Dutchess passed away, we had a playing card, a necessity for the play of the hand, and a useful bidding convention.
Now we’re in chess territory. That can’t be bad.