A Girl...

Simon Says - "Stanislaus"

So, everyone seems to be so fascinated by Stan. His name, by the way, is Stanislaus, not Stanasaurus. He also goes by Stanley Bananley, Stan the Man, Big Boy, Buddy, and Bro.

(I often feel like I'm disgracing the memory of my former cat, Nigel, when I call Stan Bro or Buddy. Nigel is the world's coolest cat, bar none. Cooler than Stan, cooler than Eve, cooler than Felix. And I called him Bro and Buddy, and it is weird to call another cat by those names)

So anyway...

Stan was originally owned by some hippie, who named him something horrible like Moondust or Moonbeam or something. The hippie didnt' like Moondust so much, so the hippie gave not-so-little Moondust (or whatever) to these other hippies, who named him Crop Circle. Jeezus, it's amazing that this cat hadn't hanged himself by the tender age of two...

Anyway, the second hippies liked him OK, but they had a kid who was allergic to cats. So poor sweet little Crop Circle lived most of his first three years of life in the garage. Poor guy, he was like a prisoner, no other cats to play with, no one to hold him or hug him... He was like those kids you hear about whose parents lock them into a closet and never let them out and then the cops discover them at age 15, and they can barely talk, and can't clean themselves, and they sleep under their beds. Well, that's poor Crop Circle at age 3-and-a-half.

So then comes my sister, whom I will call Mel. Melis a kind soul, albeit a bit histrionic, and she felt so bad for Crop Circle that she offered to adopt him. Hooray! Now, not only does Crop Circle get to come out of the garage, but he gets to go by something besides CROP CIRCLE.

Now, if you ask me, being locked in the garage is no big deal compared to havingnthat stinker of a name . Fuck, can you imagine going through life with a name like that? I went to high school with a girl with the WORST name imaginable, which I can't tell you, because then you'd google it, and the poor thing would have all these people searching for her. I actually googled her to see if anything would show up, and it looks like she got that fucker ripped right off of her birth certificate the minute she was able, because nothing turns up. Anyway, the point is, she got rid of that name sometime past the age of 18, and I can't imagine that she will EVER have recovered. I feel the same way about Stan - having been named Crop Circle can only have scarred him for life. )I will point out, for example, that Stan shares the "can't talk" characteristic with the above mentioned locked-up-in-the-basement-until-puberty kid.)

Anyway, my dear sister named him Stanislaus, which is so much better. For those of you who don't know, Stanislaus is the name of a county, a university, and a national forest, all of which are very large, just like Stanislaus the cat. So Mel kept Stan for a handful of years, along with her other cats Conrad and Dracula (Drackis-pee for short). Stan did well, and spent some good time learning to be a real cat, rather than a scary garage-dweller. He learned to run, and frolic, and tumble, and play.

Then, guess what? Mel moved to England! So poor Stan got shipped off along with Conrad and Drac to... my mom and dad's house! My mom and dad just adopted two other cats (Duncan and Brady*) from a friend of a friend! And they never wanted cats in the first place! So now they have FIVE frigging cats! And Stan and Duncan get along about as well as Marian Anderson and The Grand Wizard! And my mom is going CRAZY!

OK, now here's where it gets weepy...

After a short while, dad gets cancer, and bites it. And mom's not doing so well. Mel is home for a few months, and the cats are placated... then Mel is back to J.O.E. (Jolly old England).

SO, here's mom, alone in the house with five cats. Conrad is old, he dies. Dracula is old, and HE dies. And now, Duncan is losing weight fast, and is depressed and afraid of Stan. If we don't get Stan out of the house, Duncan is going to simply bite the dust.

This is where the weepy part ends, and it's also where I enter the story.

The phone rings, and it's mom.

"Hey, sweetie, it's your mom. I have to ask you a huge favor."

(note: mom has been my backbone during some very trying and emotionally difficult times recently. If she needs a favor, she's going to get it if I can possibly pull it off.)

"Sure, mom, anything you need."

"I need you to take Stan."

"..."

"Hello?"

"Sure, no problem."

"And I need you to drive down here to Southern California this weekend to get him."

"..."

"Hello?"

"Jeez, I don't know..."

"[starting to get a bit weepy] Duncan is dying, and if I don't get rid of Stan, I'm going to lose him."

"See you this weekend."

As it turns out, Duncan died anyway of liver failure, so now mom's down from:

Conrad
Dracula
Stan
Duncan
Brady

to:

Brady

I, on the other hand, am up from:

No cats at all

to:

Stan

So this is how I have Moonbeam/Crop Circle/National Forest living in my apartment. He's sweet and cuddly, but a little bit stinky.

Did I say cuddly? Oh my god, you've never met a needier cat. He is making up for all that garage time.

Anyway, that's the story of Stan. We'll get you a weight when we find out.

(* Four gold stars to anyone who gets this without googling.)