We decided on the subway last night that the cat’s name would be Otis. This comes from Otis Redding, of course, but shortened could refer to Odie the dog in Garfield, or Oats, a nice, wholesome name like the nice, wholesome cereal. Otis isn’t as musical as he is fat, so rather than calling him Otis Redding, I’ve taken to calling him Otis Pudding. He’s chubby and lovely and slept through the whole night with us without once waking us up until—get this—11am.
He enjoys food, of course, and he also enjoys soccer. He’s a regular Pele, actually, dribbling a tailless white fake mouse down the length of our apartment almost without thought, from one paw to the other. He’s basically the most fabulous cat in the world and has made home feel much more like a home these past two days.