In May of 2016, we decided it was time to get another cat, after having no pets for a few months. We had a dog and a cat before, both were in their twilight years and had since passed. We really wanted to get an orange cat and name it Peter Dinklage. We were kinda into Game of Thrones at the time. So I started searching on the ‘net for the perfect new addition. I found an orange somewhat surly looking beast at Green Street Rescue in Philadelphia. So we went over to Le Cat Cafe to meet him. He didn’t like us. He ran from us, he scratched me, then bit my husband. We figured since we were there, we’d look around at some other kitties, but every time we found one that seemed to be cool with us, he/she was already being adopted. Dejected and disheartened, we were about to walk out the door, when she emerged from the back, and began walking towards us. She came right up to us, rubbed up against my husband, then let me pick her up.

Our first meeting.

We had gone to choose the perfect cat; but the perfect cat had chosen us.

The problem was, she was NOT Peter Dinklage, so we had to come up with a more suitable name. Arya? Mithrandir (I had an old cat named Gandalf)? My husband is obsessed with Soccer, particularly a team called Sheffield Wednesday. A friend texted and told him to name her that. I said NO. Although just “Wednesday” was ok…and it was a Wednesday to boot. So I told him, “If you call her Wednesday, and she comes to you, we can name her Wednesday.”

Her full name: Sheffield “Wednesday” Addams.




Wednesday loves my husband more than me. That’s ok, every cat chooses a master, but prior to Wednesday, I had Gandalf, who was my “soul kitty” for 13 years. I missed being the master. Plus Wednesday had some anxiety issues, that we thought maybe a playmate might help alleviate. I think my husband actually just got tired of hearing me whine about Wednesday liking him better, but either way, I again began my online search for the perfect playmate for Wednesday. The only guidelines were “adult” and “male”. I wanted a black cat, I always have, so I was partial to them. I found a few at the Camden County Animal Shelter, including one kitten. Now the only reason I was even considering the kitten was because they were calling him “Malbec” and I’m currently obsessed with wine. They happened to be having an adoption day at the Pet Smart that day, and we had to go to Home Depot anyway, so we thought we’d check out Malbec at least, to get an idea of what we wanted.

We arrived at the Pet Smart, and Malbec had just been adopted. There were two other kittens there, a female, and another one named Rosé. I was intrigued again, because of the wine thing, but I assumed Rosé was another female, and I did not want two female cats. But as we were looking at the window, a woman approached, and asked if we liked black cats. We said yes, so she took us in the back, and let us play with Rosé, who turned out to be a boy, and his sister. Both also happened to be siblings of the elusive “Malbec” who was just adopted. Well, they were both crazy, but Rosé was a little more chill, and seemed like he’d get along with our girl. I picked him up. He stayed in my arms.

Our first meeting.

We never made it to Home Depot.

Again, we had no name. I love wine, yes, but I didn’t think Rosé was this cat’s name. He didn’t seem like a Rosé. I had just seen the Disney movie The Aristocats on our way home from Paris, and I was currently obsessed with all things french and that movie. So, I suggested Berlioz (the black kitten from the movie). My husband said, “oh the composer?” I said, “uhhh…sure.”

We agreed to call him Berlioz from that point forward.