Tomcat, thy name is Petunia


As I was saying last week at the Mensa meeting, naming a pet is neither brain science nor rocket surgery. Good thing it ainʼt. I rescued an adorable kitten on a cold day last December that I named Petunia Louise in honor of Porky Pigʼs girlfriend.
Well, kids, within a couple of months, it became, shall we say, doubly clear, that Petunia was a male kitten. Did I rename it? Of course not. This is Steve here. Besides, Petunia loves his name. In this age of transgender issues, heʼs considered a really cool cat in some circles.
Being of insane mind and body, Iʼve never subscribed to the pink-and-blue nonsense that defines masculine and feminine. So, I painted the kitten nursery lavender, the same color as my karate belt. (Perhaps heʼd prefer purrrrple).
Androgynous names have always invaded our culture. Iʼm no etymologist of names, but Iʼve heard that the name “Beverly” used to be a male name, and that “Shirley” was also a male moniker until Shirley Temple came onto the scene. If there can be a Marilyn Mason and an Alice Cooper as male rock singers, there can be a male kitten named Petunia Louise Eskew. Maybe thisʼll start a trend for male animals and even male people to be named Petunia. Maybe not. But, when referring to Sylvester, Tweety does not say “I taut I taw a tomcat.” Furthermore, Tweetyʼs own gender itself remains up to question.
Heavens to Betsy, Iʼve been known by some considerably unwanted names myself. For openers, when Mom was pregnant with me, she wanted a girl. She referred to the fetus as “Stella.” Ergo, everyone else referred to me in my fetal state as Stella. With apologies to Johnny Cash, I tell ya, life ainʼt easy for a baby boy whoʼs been known for nine months as Stella.
Trapped in a fantasy world of wishful thinking, Mom clothed me in a “long shirt” and, to this day, she insists that the long-shirt look was all the rage for male infant attire in the mid-20th century. Well, funny thing about those shirts. They all look like dresses.
My brother Dave and our mutual buddy Gabe Thompson verbally ganged up on me once when we were each in our 20s. Referring to my relaxation technique of knitting, Gabe declared that he had never known anyone with more idiosyncrasies than I. I countered his jab by pointing out that, instead of choking someone, I chose to fight stress by knitting.
“And while weʼre discussing my idiosyncrasies,” I said, “hereʼs a news flash: I was never weird until I started hanging out with you guys. Your own weirdness simply rubbed off onto me.” My brother interrupted by saying, “Oh, come on, Stella. Youʼve been weird ever since you posed for your baby pictures wearing a dress.” Both of them laughed their fool heads off.
Stella? Iʼll never know how he first learned about my fetal nickname but, once upon a rainy day in our preteen years, my brat brother and I played cards. He was the self-appointed scorekeeper. Gabe Thompson happened to come in during our game and checked out the score. Gabe looked puzzled and said: “Who the hell is Stella? From that day to this, whenever Gabe sees me from a distance, he does his best imitation of Brandoʼs Stanley Kowalski and screams: “HEY STELLA!” How original.
Let ʻem laugh, but itʼs that nickname that drove me to become a semi-macho man and to seek the coveted lavender belt in karate. Hopefully, Petunia will emerge from the lavender cat nursery as a semi-tough tomcat. Iʼm a little worried now because he seems to be rather effeminate. Oh, heavens to Harry, it just canʼt be the name, can it?
Whatʼs in a name anyway?
Perhaps I should give Petunia a masculine nickname to butch him up a bit. It worked for me. I started calling myself Hunter as a sort of antidote to Stella. I became so masculine that I started writing gonzo journalism and boldly rode with Hellʼs Angels when I wrote a story about them. Due to the danger of such a stunt, I decided not to use my own byline for the article so I used the name Hunter Thompson.
My Mensa name is Steve Martin.
Ah, I just thought of the perfect nickname for Petunia. How about Pinocchio? Now whereʼd that thought come from?
— Steve Eskew

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