Fred the cat followed Hanno home one day just before Halloween in 2005. I looked for ads in the paper and on bulletin boards around Trenton to try to find his owner, but there were none. Nobody wanted him back. He was obviously well cared for but extremely hungry when he came to us.
I kept him outside for a day or two (probably only one day, knowing myself) - it was a balmy October - so he wouldn't get used to us, and fed him, but he really wanted in. So in he came and made himself right at home.
The friendliest cat I'd ever met was Fred! He wasn't Fred then. I named him Ingver, Estonian for Ginger, after Ginger Rogers, and called him by the diminutive, Ingi. Two months later, while we were all gathered around our Christmas tree to open presents on Christmas Eve, Laine - who's crazy for cats (she's had a few of her own for years) and always wanted one growing up - was rubbing his belly and said 'Whoa! Ingi's a HE!' Silly me, I had never investigated before naming him.
That's how he became Fred Astaire.
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