The cats

I often feel like I have a bit of explaining to do when I admit my cats’ names are Tom Kyd and Christopher Marlowe. We adopted Tom about 4 years ago from the MSPCA Angell Animal Rescue Center. His foster mother is a staunch New England Patriots Fan; she’d named him Tom Brady because he’s a superstar with toys. Fair enough. But I wasn’t keen to have Tom Brady in my home. At 10 months, Tom knew his name was “Tom,” so I thought it would be cute to change it to “Tom Kyd.”

Later, when we visited the shelter to adopt a friend for Tom Kyd, I asked Jason (an architect who enjoys reading my early modern biographies and histories) what we should name him. Without missing a beat, he replied: “Christopher Marlowe, of course. They have to be roommates again.”

Tom Kyd is mostly black with 7 white hairs on his chest; Kit is the tuxedo and somewhat of a lunatic. I believe their might be a causal relationship between their love of paper (Post-it notes, business cards, any scrap will do) and their names, but perhaps I’m projecting.

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