Maybe Romeo's Juliet is right when she says,

"What's in a name?
That which we call a rose
By any other word would smell as sweet."

Maybe.

But then again, had I wanted a cat that responds to the name of a long yellow fruit, I would have christened that cat with the name of a long, yellow fruit. Did I do that? No, no I did not. Yet, somehow, in an unusually cruel twist of fate, I have a cat that responds to the name of Banana. For that unexpected "gift", I can thank the spousal unit.

A while back we adopted an extremely long, tiny headed cat I promptly christened "Savannah". To me she looked like something from Africa.

The spousal unit pished and toshed this name, declaring it too long, and began to call her "Vanna". Yes, apparently having to use three syllables to call a cat was just too exhausting for the poor dear.

Fine.

Then he began to call her "Vanna Banana". Excuse me? The original three syllable name was just Too Much Work, but tacking another three syllable word to the cat's name wasn't a big deal?

Fine.

Well, eventually he dropped the Vanna and began calling her Miss Banana. You can well imagine my horror. I figured that was probably as bad as he could make it, but oh, I was so very, very, wrong about that.

One of the spousal unit's favourite games to play with the cats is laser tag. The cats go mental with joy chasing the red beam of his laser level all over the kitchen. Savannah gets herself so wound up and tries so hard to run as fast as she can, that her rear legs literally spin in place like Fred Flintstone's used to do when he'd prepare to run.

What was Fred Flintstone's catch phrase? Altogether now: Yabba Dabba Do.

And thus, the cat I originally christened Savannah has somehow learned to ignore that name and respond to the name Miss Banana Dabba Do, or Banana for short.

The man is breaking my will to live.

--Marn