I seem to have confused a few of you about the Cast of Cat Characters in my backyard. The Stranger Cat, as we know too well, just went and died of old age. "But what," several correspondents have written to ask, "became of the Stranger Stranger Cat?" Allow me to elucidate…

The Stranger Cat was the first of the current crop to arrive on the rear porch in quest of chow. We named him The Stranger Cat because…well, he was a cat and he was a stranger. That's about as clever as we get around here. If I'd known he was going to be around so long and become such a non-stranger, I'd have given him a real name. That is, once I'd decided the animal's gender, which I had not bothered to do.

So he or she was coming around to dine, not once a day or twice but thrice or more often. "That Stranger Cat sure eats a lot," Carolyn and I said to each other. The Stranger Cat also seemed to be a bit schizo: Friendly and pettable one visit; stand-offish the next.

One night, Carolyn was working at the kitchen sink and I wandered over to the patio doors, looked out at the feline-feeding area and said, "Carolyn, I think I've figured out why The Stranger Cat eats so much. Come look." She wandered over to see what I was looking at: Two Stranger Cats. They weren't exactly twins but were easy to confuse. It was like it is with Kardashians: Once you know what to look for, you can tell them apart. We dubbed the new arrival, the one who didn't like being touched, The Stranger Stranger Cat.

I finally decided that The Stranger Cat was a male that someone had trapped, fixed and returned to the feral life. I decided that The Stranger Stranger Cat was a female to whom the same had happened. And I theorized that before the first of these fixings had taken place, The Stranger Cat had fathered The Stranger Stranger Cat. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Soon after, a huge silver feline also began coming about, asking — nay, demanding — more food than the combined consumption of both Stranger Cats plus the state of Nevada. I named him Max because…well, you know: Why not Max? Max and The Stranger Stranger Cat became quite an item so she seemed to need a real name and she became Sylvia because…well, you know: Why not Sylvia? But The Stranger Cat remained The Stranger Cat even as the handle became more ironic. He was a stranger the way Curly Howard was curly or a big guy named Tiny is tiny.

Somewhere in all this, a kitten began coming around. We called her The Kitten until she got pregnant. She was the one you may recall that I went to great lengths to trap, take in for a kitty abortion and neutering, and then released into the wild. At the vet, I had to give her a name better than The Kitten so she became Lydia, named for someone that Frank Ferrante likes to sing about.

So that's how my Fantastic Four were assembled and named and they've protected their backyard turf against most others for years. For a brief time before she was Lydia, Lydia was bringing a friend over for dinner now and then but Max set her straight about that. Max, who prefers to eat someone else's food out of their dish even when there's food in his, doesn't want anyone else around. He barely even tolerates Lydia getting anything to eat. It is sometimes necessary to place her food up high. She can and will climb but Max can't or won't.

But Max would rarely shove The Stranger Cat aside and take his food. As hoggish as Max is, he understood and dignity and seniority of The Stranger Cat, except maybe when there was tuna in the bowls. We all respected The Stranger Cat and we all miss him.