A couple of years ago, an internet phenomenon took off: Catbearding. Stanley LOVES my beard, and he lives to Catbeard me, inception style (since I already have a big bushy fuck off beard.)
He loves it so much, some days he’ll just stand there for a moment, gazing at me, then suddenly meow and Catbeard existence itself.
Note, this usually leads to me saying “STANLEY! What are you doing? You’re not a beard, there’s no face there!” as I briskly rub his chest.
He’s an odd little creep, but I utterly adore him and his evil ways. I also need to get some bullshit off my desk. Christ, what a mess. No wonder Stan loves it.