Kate is taking my last name when we get married, which to me seems kind of wonderful and scandalous at the same time, as if on visiting the Topkapi palace in Istanbul you find that they roll out the red carpets and rename it for you.
It also occurred to me that, on the file card at the veteranarian’s office, the cat’s name will change from “Squeaky Smith” to “Squeaky Young”, losing some alliterative panache in the process. Having a cat named after me, however, is wonderful but not scandalous. It makes me feel like an old-testament patriarch, with tents and camels and a cat with my name on it.
Tell that to the cat, of course, who is perfectly happy to accept food from me but otherwise regards me as a sort of tolerated roomate.