Long before my time, when my parents were dating, my mom had a cat named Crankcase. His alternative name was Friend Kitty.

When he was a wee kitten, he was exploring around the barn and fell in a bin of recently drained crankcase oil. He was so filthy not even his own mother would go near him, never mind clean him. It fell to the humans to wash him off as best they could.

They think that brain damage was a side effect - because he grew up not terribly bright. He'd walk up to a barking, growling dog or hostile human (visitors) and rub around their legs, he loved EVERYBODY - whether on not they despised him. Hence the "Friend Kitty" nickname.

Sadly, but not surprising given his lack of intellect, he died young. They were clearing large rocks from a field (a never-ending battle on any New England farm) and tossing them in a pile, and Friend Kitty decided to race the rocks to the pile. He tragically won, and got crushed.

But his memory, obviously, outlived him.