Two or three years ago at Ann’s, we went to a neighboring farm to bring home a litter of kittens. Back in the kitchen, we set about naming them. My fail safe sexing test, lift the tail and locate the peas, indicated we would be naming three girls. To complicate the job, all Ann’s cats must have a Z in their name. I recall a cat named Pez, later honored with a switch plate that says Chateau du Pez. I fell in love with a little Siamese with a stubby tail, Zephyr. There was a calico named Ziggy or Zaggy. She’s still there.
But, what to name three little girl cats. One black kitty had four white paws, so Ann immediately named her Maize. Elizabeth was an easy choice for one. She was an all black. The last little calico we named Hazel.
Ann and her husband rescue dogs and cats so often the vet became their personal friend twenty years ago. When the three little girls kept their life altering date with the vet some time after they came home, he had no reason to doubt the gender attributed to each one, until he had Elizabeth upside down on the table. Let’s just say her name is now Lizzy, short for Lizard. Maize did not suffer a name change only because of gender neutrality. Except for neutering, Hazel remained intact.
I seldom see Hazel or Lizzy when I visit; either they have many farm chores to attend to, or they don’t like me. Maize arrives from nowhere when I come up the drive, and is up for any walk I take. My personal farm escort.
Behind the barn
Old out building
Stop for a nail job
I don’t go in the road
Zola, the porch potato