Bentley, Megan’s cat, died today. He turned 14 years old last month.
Ben had pancreatitis. He beat Feline panleukopenia at a few weeks old. His odds were terrible and yet he lived on to old age. 5 years ago, around the time my twins were born, he developed kidney stones and diabetes. The stones were removed surgically. The diabetes went into remission after we switched his kibble/cereal-like dry food (branded) for wet ‘meat’ food (Fancy Feast). It was an expensive intervention but worthwhile.
He hated my kids. In fact, he would hide from them until he detected silence after they fell asleep.
They loved him. To them he was the non-human life form that behaved in an odd manner. Ben was the little brown-tabby blur that raced to eat from his bowl and hide from them again, usually in our closet. Just last weekend he was playing with a pipe-cleaner doodad one of the twins made. He played as he played when he was a kitten.
They wondered about his death. They cried. It is scary learning that your carefree kids are sentient beings with feelings and attachments. It makes them appear more fragile. Perhaps this hones that protective instinct of parents? I’m proud they appreciate life.
I didn’t always like Ben. He ruined many of my shoes by filling them with urine (as well as sandals and the occasional sweater). I surprised myself when I cried at his death. It’s hard to know any being for so long and not make a connection. Megan is crushed. She’s using her phone to medicate by idol internet surfing. I can’t blame her for not wanting to feel low and sad.
|Bentley trying to get pizza.|