Normal names

Ed and I were in the kitchen, watching Oops chowing down on the back porch. I said, "so, we're going to adopt her?" and Ed said, "yes, but her name is not Oops. We need another name."

I shrugged, then had to adjust my sequins; I was dolled up in a cocktail dress and dark lipstick for the opera. Since we were in the kitchen and this was an important conversation, I decided to boost myself up onto the counter, where I usually sit when we're both in the kitchen. Ed watched me jump, realize I was going to wrinkle my lace, abort my jump and throw myself back onto the floor with a graceful THUD SKID "Crap! Stupid shoes!"

He continued, "We need a name that goes with Gigolo. What's the name of the prostitute in La Traviata?" Ed and I went to La Traviata at the Kennedy Center once, which was why he was still in his pajamas half an hour before Madama Butterfly. He's paid his dues to Art.

"She's a courtesan, not a prostitute. Get some culture, dude."

"Same same. What's her name?" He turned to the computer (yes, we have a computer in the kitchen, have you met Ed?) and learned that La Traviata tells the story of the courtesan Violetta Valery, and Violet the cat was christened. Though I still call her Oops.