BENJAMIN
by
CAROLINE WOODS

"I'm sorry to call so early, I wanted to catch you before you left for work," he said. I remember feeling cold and scared, but Dr. Morris kept talking, "I'm sorry, but we lost Benjamin". Then, all I remember is this horrible pain ripping through chest. I lost all control and starting sobbing, I hadn't cried like that since I was a child. It was the most intense and sudden pain I remember having felt in my 26 years on Earth. For awhile, a simple word or look could send me spiraling down into a sense of loss that was staggering. Then came the anger. Finally, one day I experienced the numbness and the sense of distance. I still miss Benjamin almost every day, especially at night when the bed seems so desolate. Benjamin was my best friend, a source of unconditional love, a constant in my life.

I remember the first time I saw Benjamin, seven years earlier, he had been found by my brother's hairdresser. Along with my boyfriend at the time, I went to pick up the small abandoned kitten. I can still see that little ball of gray fluff shivering in the corner of a moving box. I remember his little body shaking during the entire ride home. I held him high on my shoulder, under my hair so he would feel a little safer. He looked like a small bear cub; we almost named him "Blue" after the bear in the Jungle Book. Somehow, Benjamin gained his name. Isn't it strange that I don't remember when or how we decided on the name?

About a week after we got Benjamin, I decided he needed a friend. So, I found Bart in the classified section of the newspaper. She was a small black kitten that eventually began to look somewhat like an extraterrestrial, a cute extraterrestrial. Ben became a beautiful blue-gray short hair, with light startling green eyes, and vampire teeth. They fell in love with one another. The only time I ever saw Ben hiss was when a dog pounced on Bart. My calm, little mellow cat hissed like a demon and attacked that dog which was five times his size. Ben and Bart were inseparable, they did everything together. Later on when they had kittens, Ben would curl up with the kittens while Bart went to eat. Bart always ate first. By the way, Bart was suppose to be named Sherchan (from the Jungle Book), but my dad started calling her black Bart and she seemed to like it better. My dad is another story altogether.

Ben and Bart were a constant in my life. Ben was the loving, intuned soul and Bart was the sweet, simple, and timid watcher. Ben was the player. His favorite was a small fish tied with budgie string to the end of the stick, which I would jerk around. Of course, Ben's idea of winning was to grab the fish and simply walk away until I would give up and drop the stick before the string broke. Ben went through several of these, he was very stubborn and many broke when neither of us would relinquish our end. With us, it was more of a battle of wills. It was Ben's way of letting me know that he was not mine, but that I belonged to him. Bart would usually watch all of this in a slightly confused manner, from some perch, usually the top of some priceless antique piece of furniture. Bart's idea of playing was to stalk Ben or some toy, but once pounced upon was forgotten, or in Ben's case groomed. Bart was always grooming Ben like a mother cat. It was very sweet to watch.

Ben was a unique cat; at least I think so. I loved the way he napped, on his back spread eagle. I loved the way he trusted me, I could walk over to him napping on the floor and he would open his eyes at me, but not move. I would sit on the floor next to him and rub the small white triangle on his tummy. He was the only cat I have ever seen that when I petted him on the head, his ears did not flatten. He loved for me to rub his ears. It was amazing the trust he had in me. Whenever he was not feeling well, he would curl up on my bed and wait for me to come home or come to my lap if I was home. When I was home, he was always within eyesight, usually on the armrest of the couch next to me. He was my constant companion; we even ate every meal together. When I would eat, he would come and sit next to me. I would hand him food, which he would grab with his paw. We used to call him The Paw; he was like a raccoon. He would chirp at me when he was hungry, not meow, but chirp. He never meowed, but made a small "yak" sound. I really miss that sound. Lately, Bart has started talking a lot; she never did that before. Nevertheless, it is not the same.

At night, I would simply say "come on" and the three of us would parade into the bedroom. Ben curled up next to my head on a pillow, another hint that I was allowed to share his bed. Bart slept at the bottom of the bed, usually between my legs, content to be mine. Due to this leg position, I soon learned to sleep on my side. To this day, I miss how Ben would find my outstretched hand and use it as a pillow with his paw thrown over it to keep it right where it was. My "kids" as I called them, became used to my sleeping habits, which were to go to sleep as late as possible and to wake up as late as possible. On those days when Ben decided he was ready to get up even if I wasn't, he would bat me on head with his paw until I got up. If that did not work, he would go to the door, grip it from underneath, and cause the door to shake with an incredible amount of force and noise. He was in charge; he always let me know. He simply always was.

People, who do not have pets, never seem to understand the bond that most people have with their animal. Most people who share their home with an animal become very attached. My "kids" depended on me when I could not afford the rent; they supported me when I had trouble in college; they comforted me when I fought with my parents; they loved me when my boyfriend slept with my friend of 17 years. Whenever I felt hopeless or alone, they were there. Ben always seemed to know when I was upset. If I were crying, without fail, he would come into my bedroom and calmly cuddle up to me. I cannot express how much emotional support he gave to me and how much joy.

A year ago almost to the day, Ben climbed up into my lap. This was an unusual occurrence because it was in front of my parents and my visiting lawyer brother, I had recently moved back to my parent's home. Ben loved to cuddle but rarely did it in front of other people. I remember holding him and wondering if he was sick, he looked okay, just sluggish. Since it was late Sunday night, I decided that I had to wait until the morning and see how he was then. I can't help but wonder if that decision effected the outcome, every now and then. I carried Ben into the bedroom and laid him on the bed. I can still remember vividly petting him with one hand, while the other was under his head like a pillow. I remember thinking that if he could purr, then he had to be ok. I can still remember the way it felt, having him purr on my hand while I went to sleep.

When I woke up, Ben was laying by the door. My mother had a tendency to open my door a crack when she got up, so Ben could come into her room while she ate breakfast. To be honest, at the time, I didn't think anything unusual about Ben lying there. Then I noticed that he didn't move as I opened the door, he just looked at me without raising his head. My small baby did not have the strength to lift his head. I don't think I have ever been so scared in my life.

I remember carrying Ben to the car, he never used a travel case, he trusted me. We used to take rides all the time; Ben would just lounge on the top of the back seat looking out the window. This time, he just laid in the seat with his head down. People always used to find it amazing that I could take Ben places and he would just sit in my lap as we waited. This time there was no waiting. The vet came out and took him into the back. I went to work. I remember worrying about him having to be there alone and how I would pay the bill. It never occurred to me that the doctor couldn't make Ben well. Ben was a constant in my life.

Ben was at the vet for two weeks. I visited him every day before work; I would hold him on my lap in the visiting room. The vet always wrapped him in a blanket, I think trying to keep me from looking at the awful tube in his paw. The doctor told me that Ben was diabetic. He was eating and starving to death. Dr. Morris was very sweet; told me I couldn't have known. Unfortunately, I had noticed two years earlier. I had noticed that he had lost a great deal of weight and drank an enormous amount of water. I took him to a nice presentable vet. I told the vet to run any test that needed to be run. Unfortunately, I talked to her about a possible payment plan before she started the tests. He should have been diagnosed then. I hate that bitch more than I hated my friend of 17 years who slept with my boyfriend. Dr. Morris talked to me about putting Ben on insulin, but informed me that it would be a wait. Ben's pancreas and liver had stopped functioning. We had to wait for the antibiotics to clean his system. I remember telling the vet that if it ever looked as if Ben would not get better to tell me, so I could take him home. I did not want Ben to die alone, but I still never truly thought that Ben would not get better.

I realized Ben was going to die on a Saturday. I went to visit him and the vet assistant brought him out to me wrapped in his blanket. I remember her telling me not to panic about his eye. He had developed some type of infection in his eye and he was yellow. It didn't seem like he could see me or that he knew me at all. I remember holding him, standing in a hallway, and begging him not to die on me. The doctor told me not to expect the worse; his system was cleaning out all the toxins. He said that was how Ben had gotten the eye infection. The next day I took my parents to see him, I could tell my father knew.

I remember my last visit with Ben. I held him in my lap, but this time he sat up. He held his head up and looked around. He seemed better and more alert. I remember I felt so relieved, but scared. I simply let him sit on my lap while I caressed his little shaved paw. I knew when the call came the next morning, such a strange combination of shock, expectancy, pain, and anger.

For weeks after Ben died, Bart would wonder the apartment whining, looking for him. Bart has changed a lot since Ben's death. She is very attentive to me. I think she is afraid I'll leave her too. Bart now likes to sit on the couch armrest, next to me. She talks all the time. She watches the fish in the tank. She is always looking for someone or something to play with. She won't go near any of Ben's areas; it seems they are off limits. She cuddles up to me while we sleep. She is a wonderful, sweet little girl. Nevertheless, I miss Ben. Nothing has been the same since he left. My mom insists that he still visits, but I don't know. She is much more certain in her spirituality that I am. Ben was my "lovealot", my best friend, my baby boy, and my unconditional love. He was a constant in my life. Now, all I know is that there are no constants in life.


Caroline Woods

copyright (1997)

Caroline Woods

Creativity is at the very core of the beingness of Caroline Woods'.

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