Some folks in Iowa recently named a rescued kitten “Firecracker” after veterinarians determined that the feline’s facial injuries had likely been caused by some sort of fireworks. In the interest of blog humor, I won’t get on a soapbox and rail against the sadistic nature of the cretins who perpetrate such acts upon innocent, sweet animals (or even cats for that matter).
Instead, I’d like to question the wisdom of christening a cat with such an awful name. If it was a feisty tabby with an explosive personality and the potential to tear digits to shreds, then a moniker like Firecracker might be an apt handle. Naming this little guy after the explosive that blew his whiskers off seems a bit cruel. On the plus side, since it’s a cat, the name doesn’t really matter as they only respond to the sound of electric can openers anyway.
Naming pets is kind of an egotistical act of futility. In the wild, they manage just fine without any sort of name at all. Thanks to us, African parrots are all called Polly, toucans are Sam, and orange cats are typically Morris. If that zoo had the foresight to not tag that gorilla a nice African sounding Harambe, 20-somethings would have far less to put on their ironic memes and T-shirts. Bored frat boys would not likely popularize the battle cry of “Dicks out for that gorilla they killed in the zoo that time.”
It’s fun to go to the off-leash dog park and listen to frustrated owners calling out the poor choices in names of their disobedient dogs. New dog owners often give their pups awful names, unaware of how often and loudly they’ll have to use it.
“Cumberbatch! Come!….CUMBERBATCH! Come on boy!” That shit never gets old. If my allergies weren’t so bad I’d go spend the morning at the off-leash cat park.