“… He calls His own sheep by name …” John 10:3b NIV
We were home, with two tiny new family members. Quickly I set up the litter box and closed off the kitchen and family rooms, where the cats would stay for the time being. We opened the carried, let them out, showed them their box and their food and water. Then we watched.
It was now after 2 PM. We had not eaten since breakfast, and everyone was very hungry, but no one wanted to leave the kittens long enough to sit down. I remember making sandwiches in fits and starts as I tried to keep up with the riotous happenings in the family room (get the bread, check the cats, put on lunchmeat, check the cats, slice the tomatoes, check the cats, etc.) For people with no previous experience with pets, it was Disneyland and Paradise all rolled into one. Or two.
The most urgent question during lunch was, “What shall we name them?” We had scheduled their first veterinary check-up for late afternoon, and felt that they should have their own names by then. We discussed the problem while we ate and watched the kittens play on the kitchen floor.
From the beginning restrictions were imposed on us, though. My son was adamant that the kittens have “real,” people names. He would not consider traditional cat names like “Tigger,” Boots,” “Gizmo,” or even “Kitty.” It was beneath their dignity to be called such things. We had to think of proper names for our new babies.
The little female was perky and active and so very tiny! As I watched her, I began thinking of her as a little girl, a little miss. “Missy,” I suggested. Everyone agreed.
Renaming the male was harder. My suggestion of “Frankie” because of his blue eyes was rejected. (This was fortunate, because his eyes didn’t stay blue.) We hauled out the baby book, but we could not agree. Someone objected to every name mentioned. Barry finally washed his hands of the matter: whatever we decided would be okay with him.
It was getting later and I was beginning to worry. Would we have to take Missy and “Nameless” to the vet? Except, of course, my son would never let us call him “Nameless,” ever for a minute.
Finally, a breakthrough: how about “Archie?” We looked at each other. Yes, Archie suited him. Of course, “Archibald” was a misnomer: this cat was anything but bald! But Archie would work fine. What a relief! They were finally named.
My name’s a most important thing: it’s my identity,
Describing, even in a crowd, my singularity.
It tells of my connection with a family or tribe,
And adds an appellation my uniqueness to describe.
But then I must consider this most fundamental sign:
The one who doesn’t know my name is not a friend of mine!
That’s why it’s so amazing: the Great Shepherd, God who came,
Confirms that I belong to Him: He calls me by my name!
Note: And now there is an baby prince named Archie. I guess we were before our time!