This New Year means more to me than a resolution or a fresh start. It marks the 10th anniversary of a very important relationship for me - one that has brought me love, solace, comfort, and lots of stray hair.
Bennett moved into my apartment with me in Olathe, Kan., the day my lease began - Jan. 1, 2005. I had been working as a crime and courts reporter for The Olathe News, a daily newspaper in one of Kansas City’s largest suburbs, since graduating from college in May 2004. I’d lived with my parents for those seven months after graduation to save up a little money but had to commute a super long way. My new apartment - the first I’d ever lived in without a roommate - was less than a mile from my office, and I was to move in on New Year’s Day. I’d worried about being lonely.
I’d met Bennett barely a week before, however. I know that seems like a short period of time to know someone before moving in with him, but I knew this would work. I was right. We’re still going strong 10 years later.
Bennett has piercing blue eyes and white fur with light-orange stripes. I think he might be part flame-point Siamese. He’s pretty chatty and very friendly. He’s large - like for real big-boned. He can reach our kitchen countertops with his front paws when he stands on his hind legs. I had to get him a dog carrier because he’s too big for a cat one. He’s broad-shouldered and very manly for a cat.
He’s one of the best cats I’ve ever known. And just before Christmas 2004, someone deserted him in frigid temperatures. The copy editor/page designer at The Olathe News, Mandy, told me that the people who lived next-door to her parents moved out and just left their cat. He wandered around his old house crying, wanting to be let in. It broke my heart. I remember how cold it was then - temperatures dipping into the single digits at night. Mandy and her family are good people, and they brought the cat into their garage with a space heater and a box full of blankets until they could find a home for him. (They already had a few pets and couldn’t keep him.)
My cat plan for moving out on my own was to settle into my new place for a few months and then get a boy-and-girl pair, whom I would name Bennett and Darcy (as in Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice, because I’m the kind of nerd who names cats after Jane Austen novel characters - gender reversed, and with a more contemporary spelling of “Bennett”). But from the moment I set foot in Mandy’s parents’ garage, that cat stole my heart. He meowed happily at me, asked for petting, walked his front paws up into my kneeling lap and even demonstrated how well he could use the litter box. I decided he would be my Bennett, and Mandy’s family suggested I give him the middle name Nicholas, since it was right before Christmas, when St. Nicholas would visit. I thought that was a splendid idea. I asked Mandy’s folks if they could keep him for another week or so until my lease started on my apartment. They dropped him off the day I moved in, among my many boxes.
The veterinarian then told me he was about a year-and-a-half old, which would make him about 11-and-a-half years old now. We’ve been through much in that time - two apartments, a career change (mine, not his), a marriage, a townhouse, a house and a baby. But he has remained my loyal companion. He follows me everywhere. He is always at the door when I get home. He meows at the door in sorrow when I leave. He lays down on my shoulder every night as I read before bed, snuggling in under my chin. I just hope that some day, my son will love me as much as my cat does.
This is not to say we haven’t had our moments. Bennett is a vindictive urinator. If I do something to piss him off (pun intended), like going on a trip, he will pee on a piece of furniture. Although every time I’ve left, I’ve ensured he has received daily care from trusted family and friends. It’s not like he’s left to starve. My husband and I moved in together a week before we got married. My husband also had a cat, my stepcat Sabrina, whom I’ve come to love as my own. This marked the first time Bennett ever had to share his space. It took many days of adjustment, but by the time we went on our Caribbean honeymoon cruise two weeks later, we were confident they would not kill each other in our absence. That didn’t happen, but something else did. I’d left my wedding dress in our basement/laundry room hanging up to get cleaned on our return from the honeymoon. My in-laws, who were helping petsit, informed me that the dress had been knocked down on the floor and pissed all over while we were gone. Fortunately, it was in a plastic garment bag, and the dress came out unscathed. But Bennett wanted to send a none-too-subtle message that he knew that dress was somehow responsible for all the upheaval in his life. He’s a smart cookie.
Bennett also masturbates, and on the most inappropriate occasions. He kneads fuzzy blankets and likes to get them balled up underneath him, I guess like a female cat would be. He arches his back, and if you try to poke him while he is doing this, we will let out an angry yowl. His nose turns bright red. After a few minutes of this kneading and arching, his little red rocket wiener comes out, and he sits down and licks it for a good long while. I went to the vet with this concern. The veterinarian who looked him over right after I rescued him told me he’d already been neutered, but I was worried maybe he hadn’t been. I’d moved and had a different vet at this point. She squeezed his poor little kitty ball sack relentlessly, saying, “I think I feel something in there.” She was worried that maybe part of a testicle was left. Then she said she wanted some second opinions and asked the other vets and vet techs there to squeeze his ball sack. I felt awful for the guy. They ultimately determined it was just a small piece of fatty tissue floating around in there and not a testicle remnant. They could give me no reason why he masturbated. I just think he’s a pervert. Only fuzzy blankets turn him on. His stepsister Sabrina does nothing for him. He likes to show how he masturbates whenever we have guests over. My husband and I do a marriage preparation course for engaged couples in our church, and without fail, Bennett mounts a throw blanket we keep on our chaise lounge and goes at it when these impressionable young couples come over. He jumps down, sits in the middle of the living room, splays his legs apart and then licks his tiny peter for all to see.
He also likes to tear through the house yowling at the top of his lungs either whenever we’ve just put our son down for bed or at midnight - whichever he deems most disruptive. But cats do this. My beloved childhood cat, Buddy, did, and my family called it “being ripped” or “having the rips.” I guess his non-domesticated ancestors went out hunting for gazelle or something at that time of night.
But most everything else about him is wonderful. After I married, the next big transition for him (and me) was the birth of the baby. In those early months, when I battled crippling postpartum depression and had a very difficult time breast-feeding, Bennett would sit or lie at my feet while I nursed and wept at all hours of the day and night. Cats generally sleep about 27 hours a day, but he exhausted himself to be by my side and comfort me during this very trying time. I can tell that he’s sad that he’s no longer the center of my attentions, but I hope he knows I still love him dearly. As the baby got older, he started to notice the cats’ existence and wanted to interact with them. His way of interacting was to grab fistfuls of their fur and yank on it. Not once did Bennett ever get upset with him about it. He just walked away. (Sabrina swatted our son once, with her claws in so as to just warn him and not scratch him, but she’s been remarkably tolerant, too.) In fact, Bennett has never clawed or bitten me or my husband or child. Ever. He has the best disposition. We are working a lot with our son on petting the cats “gently” now.
Many crazy pet people know their pet’s birthdays. Since he was essentially a stray, I have no idea what Bennett’s birthday is. But this, New Year’s, is our special day. This is our adoption day. I celebrated today by giving him a special tuna-shrimp treat and brushing him for half an hour (something he loves). Shortly, we’ll go up and begin our bedtime snuggles. Losing my childhood cat Buddy when he was about 18 years old (I was 23) was one of the most heart-wrenching things in my life thus far (I know, that means I’ve had a pretty good life). It terrifies me to think of a life without Bennett someday. This 10-year anniversary of our time together is bittersweet like that, marking the time that passes more quickly for him than for me. I’m determined to make the most of it for us. Even if you think that makes me a crazy cat lady.
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