We have a cat I call Beelzebub. Not her given name, but one I feel she has earned, based on the trail of destruction imprinted on our household furnishings and her penchant for gluttony, which is, after all, what ole Beelzebub was known for. Apparently, Beelzy ate all of his co-workers’ lunches—even though they were owner-labeled. For that, he was unceremoniously kicked out of heaven and now awaits judgment. But maybe I’m being too hard on our gluttonous cat. She did have a tough start in life.

Caney was named for the spot she was found by my wife, Karen, who is a sucker for those in distress. Caney was on the shoulder of Highway 75 on the Caney River bridge, a tiny ball of fur—parched and starving. Abandoned, she sought refuge on the freeway. Karen brought her home with the promise that she would be nursed to health and adopted by another household, not ours, although I doubted it.

We don’t really get along that well. I think it has to do with the money I’ve spent replacing cat-scratched furniture. It is hard for me to call her by her given name. She doesn’t speak English, so perhaps it isn’t as evil as it sounds to call her Beelzebub. Although words do matter, especially the names we call one another. Words carry old and new meanings.

To me, Beelzebub no longer means the Prince of Darkness. The name has morphed to mean a plump cat with a penchant for household destruction. In recent years, my wife’s name has also morphed.

The name Karen is an epithet for a type of hectoring white woman, assured of her status and not hesitant in calling down authority upon trivial moments and transgressions. The name Karen sat atop lists of names from 1941 until 1965, ranking third behind the marvelous Mary and laudable Lisa. This means many Karens today are in their fifties or sixties—like my wife.

“Alas, ubiquity rendered Karen generic, an emblem of conformity, granting her the safety of being thoroughly average. By 2020, its usage, already in severe decline before its hijacking as a term of mockery, had fallen to pre-Depression levels.” (Ligaya Mishan, “March of the Karens,” NYT, Aug. 12, 2021)

As the cat is to me, my wife is Beelzebub to some—not because of her character, but because of the name she was given in 1963. Naming a child is after all not as easy as it sounds. You realize how many people you don’t like when you start trying to name a child.

Names are often imposed upon us. Wouldn’t it be nice if the names we call others were not impositions but instead revealing? We long to hear our name. To be who we are, not what others perceive us to be from cliches and memes. Our hearts long for our names to be known and spoken.

Technology and AI shout our so-called names as if there is intimacy. My app suggested that I speak and the television would play what I said. It gave an example: “Ask to play romantic movies with Meryl Streep.”

I thought, Out of Africa, based on the writings of Isak Dinesen, who wrote under the pseudonym, Karen Blixen. Meryl Streep played Blixen opposite Robert Redford.

Late in the story, Karen Blixen is leaving Africa and gives a cherished compass to her loyal Somali headman, Farah. She tells him the compass is dear to her and has helped her find her way. Throughout the movie, Farah addresses her only with a Swahili term of endearment, Msabu, meaning madam. As she boards the train to leave, Karen looks back at Farah and says, “I want to hear you say my name.”

Farah replies, “You are Karen, Msabu.”

Someday, I will make my peace with Beelzebub. And we will walk together in green pastures without rancor or fear of damage and retribution. Like the Lord says in Psalm 50:

“All the animals of the forest are mine, and I own the cattle on a thousand hills. I know every bird on the mountains, and all the animals of the field are mine.”

Caney, according to the Psalmist, a cat once redeemed on a bridge in the stifling Oklahoma heat, is known to the Lord and Karen. One day, Caney will speak to me. She will say, “I want to hear you say my name.” And I will say,

“You are Caney, Msabu, rescued from the river by Karen. Eat all you want, this is your home.”