And that's how the cat got a middle name

I just woke up because the dryer kicked on again (it has the wrinkle guard setting that'll run it for 30 seconds every eight minutes after the cycle to, you know, guard against wrinkles) and it'll keep going all night until I get up and take the laundry out so it doesn't wrinkle which makes my dryer an annoying, naggy bitch. I woke up with M on one side of me and Max on the other, and as I climbed out over Max (only because he's smaller and less likely to grumble) I remembered this conversation Zoe and I had the other day:

Zoe: What is Tachi's full name? Is it Tachikara?
Me: It's Tachikara Roses.
Zoe: Okay, well, then what's Max's middle name?
Me: Answel.
Zoe: He's Max Answel?
Me: No, technically he's Maxwell Answel.
Zoe: So his real name is Maxwell? Not Maximiliano?
Me: Yes. I mean, I guess so. He has a lot of names.*

What cracks me up is that the child accepts what I tell her as gospel, never questioning why Tachi's middle name is Roses, or where the hell Answel came from. Which is sad because the story is a good one. Back when I was on my Ansel Adams kick we determined that Max didn't have a middle name and deserved one. I suggested Ansel, and M's response was, "You're going to name the cat Maxwell Answel?" and because that sounded so much better than Max Ansel, it stuck. Much to M's chagrin.

*He also goes by Maxi, Maxipad (this makes M uncomfortable), Maxerroneous, Maxwellian, Furball, Fuzzball, and DammitMax.