How to Name Your Cat

Taki's Cafe in Manhattan was an in-and-out sort of place.

It had the same character as most of the hipster cafes nearby: chalkboard menus, overpriced coffees, and indie music. What made it unique was it's dining room.

There were only four little round tables; two on each side of the pathway that guided the line. Each tiny table only sat two people, and even then it was cramped. 

This forced Taki's to be an in-and-out experience. Enter. Order. Pay. Pick up. Leave.

You didn't stop and look at the art on the wall or admired the view of the busy street. You didn't contemplate what you were going to order. You just knew.

It was for this reason that Taki's became the best place for brainstorming names for one's cat.

It had been months since the tragic passing of Chairman Meow. Magnus Bane wanted to say that he was over the death of his beloved cat, but in all honesty, he wasn't. His flat in Brooklyn was too quiet— too reminding. Any chance he had to get out of the flat, he took.

Nothing in particular lead him to Taki's at six in the morning. He could have picked any of the dozen coffee shops near his house. 

But he knew he needed a busy coffee shop.

Pad of paper and purple pen stowed carefully away in his bag, he entered the tiny coffee shop. 

If you listened carefully, you could hear a thousand different sounds going at once. 

There had to beat least a dozen different instruments in the song that was playing out of the old speakers. Two espresso machines were going: one steamed milk, the other grinding beans. One opening cash register. One order being taken. One mumbling customer, trying to comprehend the menu. Two people on their cell phones making "important calls." One phone vibrating in a pocket. The hum of the refrigerated pastry case. The hum of two mini-fridges behind the counter. Two conversations going on behind the counter. A slamming cabinet. Shuffling feet. The sound of wooden chair hitting wooden table. The sound of wooden chair sliding across carpeted floor. 

And the jingle of the bell as Magnus pushed the door open. 

He sighed contently. 

The sound wasn't too much.

"Alessandra?" a barista called.

Magnus mentally wrote down the name. 

A few minutes later, his own name was being called. He took the to-go cup and sat down at the table closest to the space between the espresso machine and the wall, where the under-paid barista would shout the name of a customer.

He pulled out the notebook and pen, scrawling Alessandra before he forgot it.

After an hour of careful listening, there were close to two dozen names written down. Some had already been crossed off. Others had stars.

Dante

CATerina

Kadijah

Gustavus (Gustavo?)

Vaclav (VaCLAW)

Vladimir

He had considering doing another play on words, like he had with Chairman Meow, but a straight-forward name is what this cat would need. 

Magnus tapped the end of his pen furiously on the pad of paper, trying to narrow down the list.

"Is that the names of all the customers?"