His name was Bob.
Assuming that wasn’t a typo and you really found a can from the Civil War era, I imagine had you left it unopened, it might have gotten a few bucks on eBay. (Actually, an intact can from 1964 might still be worth something to someone.)
Not in my fridge, but while working at a pacemaker company, I was called to fix something in a development lab. While I was letting the machine run some tests, I decided to look inside the small fridge nearby, expecting to find snacks and soft drinks. No, just some chemicals, and a plastic bag labeled “Head, goat”. And that’s exactly what was in the bag.
Not a can. Canned in a jar.
I’m not sure what the grossest thing was. It may have started life as a piece of meat (well, as a beef or pig or chicken), but by time I got to it, it was unrecognizable. Thank you, ex-wife, for leaving it in the unplugged freezer of the house that I bought from you.
A hoarder tenant. 3 year old eggs, solid milk in a carton, 3 year old mayo. That’s just a sampling.
I just found, as in this week, some bacon at the very bottom of the freezer drawer. It was black.