Our youngest cat has a multitude of names. He came with the name Sox, but we also commonly call him Monkey (because he climbs things), Kangaroo (because he jumps like one — stiff back legs and everything), Prairie Dog (I’ve never seen a cat sit straight up on its haunches and stay there for that long like he does), as well as the affectionate titles of Goober and Wumpus.
(Why Wumpus? Well, obviously, because he’s a scary monster, and it’s dangerous to be in the same room with him. Or something. Don’t ask me, it was just one of those spontaneous name things.)
He earned yet another nickname this morning. He’s not the swiftest on the uptake, and he hasn’t quite figured out that, when he jumps into the tub while one of us is taking a shower, he tends to get wet. He didn’t actually jump in this morning, though; he just stood on the edge of the tub, poked his head around the shower curtain, and then jerked back as if mortally wounded when he got hit by the spray. Then he did it again a minute or two later.
As I was drying off after my shower, Jennie happened into the bathroom, and I said to her, in a very serious tone, “I have a question.”
“Oh God,” she said. “What?”
“When he’s underwater,” I said, in the same serious voice, “does he get wet? Or does the water get him instead?“
She chuckled, and said, “Y’know, I think the water might get him.”
I shrugged. “Nobody knows. Particle Cat.”
She laughed out loud.
A few minutes later, I was going down the stairs, and our newly-christened Particle Cat was flopping around on his back. I must have startled him on my way by, and he took off, using my foot as a launching pad. With his claws extended, of course.
“They have a fight,” I amended. “Particle wins.” After a moment’s thought, I added, “‘Cause Particle has Triangles.”
(If you’re clueless, go read the lyrics link I posted. If you’re still clueless after that, I wouldn’t worry about it too much.)