My late, lamented cat Koshchei was, as Kliban so aptly put it, "one hell of a nice animal, frequently mistaken for a meatloaf". He loved people and would happily trot up and jump onto your lap (a serious matter - he was 16 lbs. of mostly muscle) when called or whistled for and accept the attentions that he so richly deserved. My housemates, not being Russian speakers, didn't even try to pronounce "Koshchei", or even my diminuitive, "Koshka" (Russian for cat); they just called him "Butch", to which he just as happily responded.