by Nic Olson
There is a cat that lives outside my home. He peeks in the window every now and then. If it was really cold out, like Saskatchewan cold, or Everest cold, I’d probably invite him into my home. I don’t especially like cats. I’ve met maybe two cats that I remember liking, and that is because they didn’t rub up on me like some dancefloor slut, leaving handfuls of hair on my pants, or they didn’t take a swipe at me like a chained up monkey. But this guy is different. Maybe because he is devoted, sitting at the window for at least four hours the other day. Or maybe because I met him on a day that I was about to burn down my apartment in boredom, loneliness and rage.
Largely because I think most people are tired of my angstful posts and would like to see something upbeat and positive, I’ve been enjoying photos lately. What is more upbeat and positive than a young cat trying to survive in the big city? There is a dead bird outside the apartment, in the gutter, trampled and soft, probably there since autumn, preserved by the salt and gutter snow. I want to tell the cat to go finish it off. Eat the beak and whatever remains. Get rid of this bird that I step over everyday. Clean up your city streets.
So I wanted to name him. The cat. Here are my ideas, please choose one of the following, but I’m open to suggestions.
Henri (French, pronounced En-Ree)
Raja (Hindi, meaning king. I met a kid who had two pet goats, one was named Rani and the other Raja. He talked to them and they slept in the house. He loved those goats.)
Jules (French, like the author of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea)
Donald (like the name of a fat kid that lived in White City)
Heathcliff (my favourite cartoon cat)
Louis (either French or English, like the dude that was a coke addict at my old office)
Mr. Aubergine (French meaning Mr. Eggplant)
Westley (Late addition, suggested by Jeremy. I’m liking it.)