One fine November day, I was sitting at the table minding my own business when Kit did his best to burst into the room (a rather Herculean feat given his size compared to the size of the door!) He righted himself, assumed a dignified pose, and declared that I was in Big Trouble! With him.
“It has been brought to my attention,” he said haughtily, “That the name Kit just means ‘baby meerkat.’ Firstly, I am nearly four years old; I ought to be just Meerkat by now! And thirdly [his numbers go a bit random when he gets excited], why couldn’t you be bothered to think of a proper name for me?! Parents are supposed to have arguments about what to call their kids. You did when we were naming your cactus! You love that Spike Milligan more than you love me!” He started sobbing theatrically into his paw.
“Oh dear! Poor Kitten,” I said soothingly. “You had better sit down and let me tell you the real story behind your name.”
“It had better be good! And don’t call me Kitten,” he sniffed grudgingly. So I began.
“Once upon a time, a long time ago, there was a girl named Kathleen. She had five brothers (poor thing). Her mother thought that Kathleen was the most beautiful girls’ name in the whole world, so she bestowed that name upon her only daughter.
But Kathleen disagreed. She thought it sounded indecisive, like a dithering halfwit of a name that wanted to be Katherine, but halfway through changed its mind to Eileen. She didn’t like it at all. By the time she was a teenager, she had begun to insist on being called, Kit.
When Kit grew up she had a daughter, who she named Karen. Karen is my mother. So that means that Kit was?”
“Your great-great-big-aunty-twenty-oneteen-times-removed on your mother’s best side?” Kit guessed.
“Close!” I said kindly, “Kit was…. my grandmother!”
“That’s what I meant,” said Kit.
“She died a few years before you were born at the ripe old age of 99 and three quarters (a fact which would have irritated her a great deal, had she not been dead). But I loved her very much, and I thought it would be an honour for you to be named after her.”
“Hmph!” said Kit. “You named me after a girl!” And he stomped off to sulk.
I called after him “Aren’t you lucky we didn’t name you Kathleen?”