Tuesday, September 16, 2014


So Amy and I recently went to the pet store to get some things for her daughter's bunnies and possibly a new harness for my little dog. (His keeps slipping) While we were there, the local shelter was adopting out animals. It wasn't long before Amy and her daughter that had accompanied us, had fallen in love with a large, 4 year old orange tabby.

His shelter name was "Thackery" and he had been living there since he was four months old. His story was just precious and all three of us soon fell in love with the older tom. Adoption papers were signed, carriers and cat food purchased... and soon we found ourselves riding home with a new furry friend.

As we pulled through the Starbucks drivethru to grab something to drink on the way home, we found ourselves trying to pick out a name for him.

"He was trapped in that shelter for so long with no one to take him home, what about Crookshanks?"

"I'm not sure, he looks like a lion."


"No, Mufasa! Oooh! Say it again!"



And so it went, trying to pick out a name for the cat who sat miserably in his cage yowling at us. He didn't seem like he was big on travel. By the time we got home, we had decided on "Mufasa". But not a few hours later, everyone seemed to have their own names for him.

"Come here little Timone!"

"No, it was Simba, remember?"

"Hold up - What happened to Mufasa?"

"Is it a girl? We should call her Nala!"

And so the Lion King references continued. Eventually I started to call him "He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named" as that seemed to fit him temporarily as everyone else tried to figure out what to call him. He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named is currently hiding in the bathroom as he tries to get used to his new surroundings. Maybe by the time he decides it's safe to come out, we'll know what to call him.

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