The little grey boy has a name.
Before I get to it, allow me to say that it's been unkindly astounding to me to note how freely people feel it has been necessary to share their sneering opinions about - of all consequential and clearly asking-for-it topics - the naming of a little kitten. I got "That's different" in one snide remark and "It's not very butch" in another, and would like to go on record that anyone who feels the need to be JUDGMENTAL as regards the topic of my cat's name is hereby invited to stuff it pretty deep. How anyone imagines there can be any need to get opinionated, particularly in the negative, about the non-earth-shattering topic of my cat's damned name, I cannot understand - and do not care to. So stifle it, Edith, if you feel a cat needs to be studly, or if you don't get the pop-cultural joy, or for that matter any sort of new problem anyone may choose to have with it.
Because the moment it cropped up ... Gossamer's name tickled me quite to death.
For one, he's an INteresting monster. For two, Gossamer!
For three, he is silky, velvety soft: gossamer.
For four: he has little white sneakers on. Gossamer!
And for five: he's likely to be called Mermer a lot. And with a meow as quiet as his, that will fit him adorably well. *Grin*
I love it.
He has said nothing whatever about how damned "effeminate" it is (Mer is a boy fully at home in his tiny neutered masculinity, and needs no snide defenders thank you). Gossamer it is. My little silky boy.