That last post was depressing. Let’s move on, shall we? I got a cat! A white cat, three years old, who was being rehomed. The thing about cats is that they don’t really understand names how we do or how dogs do. They recognize when you’re talking to them based on tone, and some come when called by name, but according to cat behaviourists (which is apparently a job, and my new life ambition) they don’t tie their name with their identity. While I have many nicknames I still understand myself at a base level to be Cyra. A cat, on the other hand, will just understand itself to be “Me” due to their solitary nature in a wild environment. They are, in a literal sense, self centered. All that gobbledygook means that I will be changing his name, and I’ve spent a considerable amount of time thinking about possibilities. I liked Chalk or Cotton, but neither really fit his personality, I liked Darjeeling for white tea, but couldn’t come up with any nicknames, I like Bernard and my husband liked Albert, but each of us hated the other person’s chosen name. Eventually in line for a movie I made a joke about calling him Ghost, my husband made a joke about calling him Danny Phantom, we had a moment of nostalgia over old cartoons, and the name was decided. Danny Phantom it is. He’s still only here on a trial basis, since at his old home he lived with his sister since birth and we’re all still not sure if he’ll adapt to being the only cat in the household, but if he does well by the end of the week he’ll be here to stay from now on. Without further ado, picture spam!