Stanley was an orange tabby, just like Jack, but he had less white on him. Actually, he looked an awful lot like Morris (the Nine Lives spokescat). Stanley was far from finicky though. He would wait and eat anything that fell off of the table--and he would try to get it before the dog did! That is one of the reasons he was in the 15 pound weight range.
There was nothing Stanley enjoyed more than visiting with the company sitting around the kitchen table. He would jump up on one of the chairs and sit and listen to the conversation. He would get bored easily, though, and had the tendency to fall asleep while sitting up. This proved to be very embarrassing on several occasions: he would sleep so soundly that he would fall off of the chair! But when he was interested in what was being said, he would just sit, listen, and SMILE. He is the first cat I ever saw that could smile.
Stanley was also the first cat that I knew of to sleep on its back. He was just as comfortable on his back as he was curled up "cat-like" in a tight ball. If he happened to be sleeping on a bed, his head would be on the pillow as he slept. To say he was spoiled is an understatement. He was gentle, kind, loving, and purred loud enough to wake a person from a sound sleep.
Even though Stanley was gentle, I was a little apprehensive to have him around C when she was a baby. One never knows how an animal will react to a baby coming into their territory, so I was a bit nervous. He never gave me one moments worth of worry, though. For the most part, he just avoided C as much as possible. Not to the point where he would run and hide, he would just stay out of reach. As C got older, she would race around the house in her walker. She loved to chase Stanley through the house and he would run until he found a place to hide. Although, hide is a relative term. He usually would try to squeeze under the utility table in the kitchen, but was too big to get anymore than his head underneath. This, of course, meant his entire body was still exposed, but he thought, since he couldn't see anything, that he was hiding. And it was inevitable that C would run right over him with the walker. And his reaction was never anything more than to run upstairs and go to sleep for awhile.
One incident where he could have hurt C badly went like this: She was chasing him around, as usual, and he had had enough. Instead of going all the way upstairs, he just went up a couple of steps and sat. The two of them had a bit of a staring contest for about a minute and then C reached out her hand to pet him--or so I thought. Instead of petting him, she grabbed one of his whiskers and pulled--so hard that his lip came straight out and finally the whisker came loose. She sat holding his whisker and he just looked at her--bewildered--and said, "mmmpf." That was it. At that moment I know there was nothing she could do to make him hurt her.
Stanley was an indoor/outdoor cat. And this is where the only horrid thing about him came into play. Stanley would go hunting--as any good cat does--and would bring his prey home with him. The thing is, he wouldn't kill what he hunted. After getting home with his catch, he would hunker down in the front yard and proceed to PLUCK whatever he had with him. Mole, mouse, chipmunk, bird--it didn't matter. He would pluck the poor thing--while it was still alive--until every piece of hair/fur/feather was gone and the poor thing was naked and half dead. He was a sadistic SOB when it came to his prey--the only time I really couldn't stand to look at him.
Stanley died about 25 years ago. We were at The Parents and everyone realized that we hadn't seen him for awhile. We searched and found him, bleeding, in an upstairs closet. He was brought to the vet's office where it was discovered that he had been shot--in the face--and needed to be put down. The bullet entered just under his eye and exited from his lower jaw, taking most of the jaw with it. There was nothing that could be done for him. It was a very sad end to a wonderful pet.
Here is a not very good picture of Stanley.
What a good story! I'm sorry to hear that someone shot him though. What kind of a-hole shoots a cat? I mean really, how much trouble could one possibly be?
ReplyDeleteWe had two cats before our daugther was born. I was never much of a cat person, but these two were different. When we broght her home from the hospital, both of them changed. They started doing things they'd never done and they did not like her at all. One actually hissed at her as she was crying. That's when I told hubby that they were gonna go, or me and the kiddo were going to. If one of them would have hurt my baby, I'd have killed them without thought, and I didn't want to do that.
His cousin took them and they let them run outside. One was carried off by an owl. The other presently lives at my in-laws house and is still mostly outside. He's a good cat, but I still doubt I'll ever get another one although I think my dog would love it if I did. She thinks every living thing is alive to be her friend....