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- Jan 19, 2024
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His name was Bentley, but I rarely ever called him that. Over the years he became Boobear, Bobear, Snoobear, Snowbert, Bobert, Bubba, Snuggert, Nubbert, Nuggert, Nub, Snub, Snubbert, the list goes on… and he responded to them all. There was no such thing as too many names of endearment for my little guy.
I have spent a lot of time trying to make this post since he was suddenly put to rest on the 20th. I have typed out his whole “life story”, starting with his adoption, and then his tragic and unexpected demise (advanced heart failure that was never detected/misdiagnosed as allergies by my regular vet, she saw him just days before and multiple times over the past couple years…. don’t get me started there) and deleted it many times. I am now coming to terms with not only the fact that he is gone, but also the fact that I will never be able to convey in words or pictures how much he meant to me or how special he was. He was fifteen, possibly sixteen, I had him for almost thirteen years, and it wasn’t nearly long enough.
I love cats. The longest I’ve gone in my life without the company of a cat was the five or six months before I got Bentley after I had moved out on my own for the first time. I was born into a family with a cat, I still have two cats, I will always have cats. But Bentley was different. I knew Bentley loved me just as much as I loved him, if not more, if that’s even possible. I used to joke that he must have been my (extremely loving and devoted) husband in another life because he wanted to be not only with me but on me 24/7 and would just stare at me, constantly. If he wasn’t cuddling me he was cuddling his bonded girlfriend, Bitsy, who I got a year and a half after him. There was no such thing as too many pets or kisses or cuddles with him, if it was up to him they would have been never ending. If I ever stopped petting him he would beg for more. He loved having his face stroked and eventually adopted the behaviour himself, so he would reach up and touch my cheek with his little paw. He also loved to press up against my side with his arms around me in a hug, he was very human-like in his affection and we’d often fall asleep that way. Whenever I was on the computer he’d come and stand on his back legs, and put his front paws on my knees, asking to be picked up and put on my lap. He reeeeally loved to be brushed. If I ever dared to brush one of the other cats he would forcefully insert himself between them and the brush. He was the sweetest most affectionate boy with the most beautiful big green eyes, and he always looked at me in the most “knowing” and loving way.
Bentley liked everyone, ESPECIALLY random men who would come over to do work at the house. He would rub up all over them and mew at them for pets, and he definitely convinced some cat-doubters/dog people that cats could be just as loving, if not more loving, than dogs. He also loved other cats. He was glued to Bitsy from the moment I introduced them twelve years ago, and immediately accepted my new kitten, Moose, who he only got to spend three weeks with.
I had no idea things were as bad as they were during Bentley’s final hours. Something was clearly off with his breathing, but he still ate like a horse and was still trying to cuddle me, so I thought whatever was going on could be fixed. I assumed the medication my vet had put him on just days before suddenly wasn’t agreeing well with him (I had already stopped it the night before after speaking with her and being told to “just watch him”), and that that morning, when he wasn’t showing any signs of improvement, the ER vet could fix him up and help get it out of his system, and that he’d be fine. When I checked on him during the car ride and handed him off to the ER triage in his carrier I didn’t even consider that that could be the last time I saw him as himself, but it was. I never even got to properly say goodbye to him until he was already gone because he declined so rapidly in there. By the time they brought him out for euthanasia he was already so sedated that he may as well have been gone already, and I saw him for all of five seconds in that state before the ER vet said they had to do it right then.
I hate that he went the way he went. He didn’t deserve that. I feel so guilty for continuing to take him to that vet, I never liked her much and I should have trusted my gut, but it was convenient and closeby and he never acted like anything was wrong until his final 24 hours. I feel guilty for putting my trust in someone else’s judgement, just because they were a “professional”, and giving him the medication that likely triggered the episode that killed him, and for not asking more questions and advocating for him more. I knew he was getting older but I never imagined the end could come so soon and suddenly. I can’t help but think, had he had a better vet over the past couple years, like the one I had before I moved here, he could still be here.
Bentley my sweet boy, if tears could resurrect the dead you’d still be here with me. You were my best friend in the entire world and the biggest blessing. The purest little soul. You taught me what unconditional love is. I survived the worst years of my life because of you and I will miss you every day, life is not the same without you. Bitsy and Moose miss you too. I love you forever and can only hope that somewhere, someday, fate will bring us together again. Goodbye for now my cat husband, you were the best boy.
