Ramona and I were out walking when a young girl (seven or eight years old) came running down the sidewalk after us.
“Excuse me, excuse me,” she shouted.
“Sit,” I said to Ramona.
Ramona is irresistible to young children, and I thought that this child was going to say: “Can I pet your dog?”
But instead, the girl said, “Why is there a space in your name?”
“What?” I said.
“There’s a space in your name, between the ‘Kate’ and the ‘DiCamillo’ part and I don’t understand why.”
“I’m confused,” I said.
She sighed.
“Your name is ‘KateDiCamillo.’ That’s how you say it. That’s how the librarian says it. Altogether like that. So why is there a space?”
“Oh,” I said. “I get it. ‘Kate’ is my first name and ‘DiCamillo’ is my last name. Most people just call me ‘Kate.’”
“Oh,” said the girl. She stared up at me. She blinked. “Can I do that?”
“Do what?” I said.
“Call you ‘Kate?’”
“Of course,” I said.
“Okay,” she said. And then she turned to Ramona. “Can I pet your dog, Kate?”
“Yes,” I said.

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