What is the name of the orange Quad Cat? A Griffin Survey
By Grace Brown and Patrick Healy
He is a purring phenomenon of particular psychological import to Canisius undergraduates; a feline fixation who flusters even the aloof; the singular subject of sacrilegious worship among students. And his name is Timmy. Or Jim. Or Timothy James.
If Harry Potter taught us anything, it is that names have power. With that magical maxim in mind, The Griffin conducted a survey to determine the common name of The Orange Quad Cat, as we called it while surveying students – in an effort to stay neutral, as well as to specify which Quad Cat we were asking about. Rumor has it there is a second, black and white cat which takes evening patrol on campus.
Like the cat, the results are not fixed.
Indeed, a full twenty-seven different names were reported by the forty-six respondents. From the odd—Garbage Cat?—to the obvious— Garfield is shockingly unoriginal—the Quad Cat remains without a definitive name, at least by our reckoning.
At seven responses, “Timmy” is the plurality, though the derivatives of “James”—Jim and Jimbo—numbered nine. But then, if you count “TJ” (standing for Timothy James we were told) in the Timmy camp, then nicknames for Timothy also number nine. (We suspect the originators of Timothy James were political science majors seeking a milquetoast middle ground.)
Accompanying this methodologically meticulous and statistically sound survey are a few interesting observations:
1) It was conducted on Wednesday in the dining hall after the Mass of the Holy Spirit. We think this is the reason for the preponderance of Biblical names. Perhaps the “Dante” dubber was particularly moved by the preceding service.
2) A common phenomenon was the absolute, inflexible, and impassioned insistence of certain respondents who declared that “everyone calls him _______!” It seems different social spheres are united in their name for the Quad Cat, and thus believe that all people call him that. Riddle us that, psychology majors!
(Because you were demanding, we, enlightened Griffin editors, call him the tastefully witty yet obligingly whimsical “Timbits.”)