His name is Beansy, named after a The Sopranos character Matic and I misremembered. In reality, we wanted to name him after Tony Sirico's character Paulie 'Walnuts' Gualtieri but had incorrectly thought that character was in fact nicknamed 'Beansy'.
Days after adopting him, the realization of our error sunk in but was quickly replaced with amazement as the shelter he was adopted from had our intended name right all along - they had named him Paul. He and his three litter-mates (named George, John, and Ringo) and mom (named Jude) were removed by animal services from a feral situation. Since the kittens were too young for vaccinations, the policy was immediate euthanasia but a local no-kill shelter took in the whole lot and fostered all until adoption was possible.
Ultimately we thought it fitting to officially stick with Beansy but unofficially, he went by many other names - Pickles, Pickle Pants, The Great Bon-Zini, Mr. Tiger Pants-Lion Paws, Chalupa Cheetoh, Baron von Fuzzy Bottoms, on and on it went.
Beansy was the very first thing we sought upon securing our first apartment together. He was with us through our education, the beginning of our respective careers, our home purchase, our dating relationship, our engagement relationship and our marriage.
There are far more stories about Beansy than is possible to recount at this moment but I will share one Kodak moment and perhaps more in the future.
Beansy adored crab and believe me when I tell you that there is no adjective sufficiently strong to adequately describe that adoration. His first experience with crab was at nine months old. He paid no mind to the frozen snow crab going into the steamer, but once that briny aroma began to waft through the apartment, he frantically came running into the kitchen, screeching meows and ferociously smelling the air. From that point on, Beansy could visually identify snow and king crab in its frozen form and would linger in and around the freezer awaiting its inevitable removal to the steamer pot.
Typically during meals, Beansy would beg, but in a gentlemanly manner - sitting on the floor letting his interest be known but never pressing the matter forcefully. With crab all such manners were gone - he actively tried to get his body (specifically his mouth) as close to the crab as possible. He would climb into your lap, injecting his head under your armpit in an attempt to intercept crab. He would use his paw to guide your hand containing crab meat away from your mouth and towards his. He would paw at the platter in a desperate attempt to jostle free a leg. It was both hilarious and frustrating as crab dinners became quite challenging.
Once while hosting my aunt and uncle to a king crab feast, we decided to lock Beansy into the Florida room that adjoins our dining room. Beansy continually howled as he was carried and deposited into the Florida room. As we began to dig into the crab, his howls became increasingly more frantic. After a few moments Beansy began to thrust his body into the sliding glass door, rattling the entire wall. My uncle looked over and asked 'is your cat okay, he reminds me of one of those raptors from Jurassic Park'. Of course the only recourse was to shell an entire leg and toss it in the room which too was reminiscent of a scene from Jurassic Park.
Beansy permeated nearly every aspect of our lives for sixteen years and though he was just a cat, he was adored, revered, and cared for to the highest degree possible. He was a terrific companion that provided a lifetime of joy. His is a spirit that Matic and I dearly hope to reunite with again.
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| Beansy on May 10, 2016 perched on his chair in the kitchen observing the evening's meal preparation |
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