Picking Pet Names By The Literary Method
Being maxed out with feline boarders, though, new quarters had to be found. The logical choice? The Foy Brown family just down the street. Our families had supported each other through animal crises numerous times before.
After rehearsing the familiar sales pitch, Mary called Judy Brown. "There's a cute black kitten here that needs to live with you." Always tenderhearted, the Browns couldn't refuse such persuasions. The actual exchange took place within a few days.
This new kitten forced the Browns to address another problem, however. Being literary types, their pets often require names picked by literary methods. So they naturally the pondered the pick-a-new-name challenge from that viewpoint.
What, they concluded, would fit the black Brown kitty better than Pinkle Purr, the central character in the A.A. Milne poem of the same name? Thus Pinkle Purr--Pinkle for short--emerged as a vital cog in the Brown household machine.
Being no respecter of breeds, the Browns also employed the literary method to assign a name to a wayward puppy that appeared on their Davis Street doorstep one dreary February morning.
It just so happened that they had been, at about the time of the pup's arrival, reading Lewis Carroll's famous nonsense poem "Jabberwocky." And the intense second verse quickly solved their dilemma.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun the frumious Bandersnatch!"
Thus oh so smoothly, Bandersnatch--Bander for short--became the name-meant-to-be for this valuable addition to the Brown household for many a year.
I was reminded of these little-publicized historical tidbits as we visited the Browns at their home in Fort Smith on Labor Day.
And as I sat on the couch, the indomitable Pinkle Purr slipped into the living room to greet me. No longer bearing the silky fur of yesteryear, her thin, emaciated frame sank wearily into my lap.
As she lay there contentedly, my fingers gingerly touched each protruding vertebra, shoulder blade and hip. Remembering the outer beauty of her youth, I soothed her with soft words. "Good old Pinkle. What a find and faithful companion you've been to this family."
Then true to her namesake, she simply blinked at me and purred contentedly--but in the spirit of the second verse of the poem that had birthed her noble name:
"Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr, A ridiculous kitten with silky fur. And little black Pinkle grew and grew till he got as big as the big Tattoo. And all that he did he did with her. 'Two friends together,' says Pinkle Purr."
"Friends together" bridge the deep chasms often wrought by time and age and infirmity.
Copyright 2004 James McAlister
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