One of my cats has a rather unique name. Every time I tell people his name they look at me in askance. I feel obligated to tell them the story at that point. Mainly because I thought the origination of his name is super cool. It still is really, but at this point in his life and mine its meaning is different. I doubt he cares. Unless it's food, pets, brushing, or attacking his brother his interest is mediocre at best.
A few weeks ago I was out with one of my best friends. The conversation turned to pets and pet names. He apparently had not heard the story. It is not very long so I went through it and he thought it was pretty neat. Probably because there was a story/reason behind the uniqueness rather that me just being different for its own sake.
Relaying the story brought on a whole tumult of emotions. Unexpected, strong, and scary. I literally went a little bit crazy for a short time. My friend was understandably concerned. It did not last long, but it was intense and will not soon be forgotten. Some of that was relived today. Not so nearly as intense, but I have been trying to take more effort in being aware of my emotions and why I am experiencing them. Writing about it is, I am finding, very cathartic.
Oh, the story? It was coming up on our first anniversary. I was having trouble coming up with a gift. I finally hit on something. She had been wanting a new cat for a while so I took her to pick one out of a litter a friends cat recently had. I forget how many there were exactly. Six or seven of them. He greeted us at the door. We visited the others to make sure but ended up taking him home. I gave her a card explaining this was her anniversary gift. This long black haired, golden eyed kitten. I suggested we name him "Paper" as paper is the traditional first anniversary gift and that was that.
Today is his 5th birthday. Happy Birthday, Paper.
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