Bassy

Yesterday was really a terrible day, and not just because of the $250 bad choice my child made at the Valentine's party. When we got home, we noticed our precious cat Sebastian, who two months ago was diagnosed with a weird kind of respiratory cancer, wasn't acting right, and he died later that night.

He'd been going downhill for a few days now, although last week he was still going up and down the stairs, climbing onto his favorite spots on the couch or bed, and enjoying the warm weather with trips to the back yard. Anyway, I always debate between ending a pet's life peacefully but possibly prematurely, or letting the animal pass away naturally and at home. As is often the case with us, we probably waited too long, but as my vet says, most loving pet owners err on this same side.

I'm getting tired of using my blog to eulogize my deceased cats, but since writing helps me deal with the grief, here I go again ...

I found Sebastian in July of 1995. I was living in South Carolina at the time, about an hour from my parents, and whenever I'd go out of town, my two cats would spend the weekend at my parents. We had a rendevous point along I-85 (the Easley exit, for those of you who care) where we'd meet to do the dropoff; we'd usually have a quick lunch or dinner together, then my parents would take my cats back to their house. So in July of 95, I was heading to Morristown for the wedding of a friend's brother. We were at the Arby's there at the interstate, doing the cat swap, when I saw a tiny black kitten in the drive-through. After conducting the requisite inquiries inside the area restaurants, I decided to take him back to my apartment. (Ironic, I always thought, that I sent two cats to spend the weekend at my parents' and brought a third back to an empty apartment.)

I left the kitten with lots of food and water and headed out of town, not quite sure what would happen in my absence. He was fine, and I took him to the vet to be checked out, then began the process of integrating him with the two girls, Sandy and Holly. I questioned whether I'd done the right thing in bringing him home -- three cats in a one-bedroom apartment seemed a bit much -- but over the years he showed me over and over why I'd made the right decision.

He was always a snuggler. Unlike his two older sisters who displayed typical feline moodiness and I-don't-need-you attitudes, Bassy was always ready to be held, petted, or otherwise loved on. His favorite place to snuggle was on our feet as we lay in bed. And since he gave off so much heat we nicknamed him the Little Black Furnace, having him on your feet on a cold winter night was bliss. (Not so much in the summers ...)

He was also a scavenger -- it was as if he never really learned that he didn't have to scrounge for food. I'll never forget the first time Bobby and I had dinner guests after we got married. We used cloth napkins and fine china and crystal and thought we were really something. Sebastian thought so too, because during dinner, raised one stealthy black paw over the edge of the table, hook itself into a cloth placemat, and pulled the thing off the table -- we didn't even notice until we saw Bobby's plate slowly moving across the table!

As much as we always loved Sebastian, he endeared himself to us even more through his obvious love for Maggie. From the very beginning of my pregnancy with her, Sebastian acted differently -- more affectionately, if that was even possible. He was always on me, as close to my stomach as I'd allow, and the minute we brought her home, he was protective and possessive.

The above picture was taken the day we brought Maggie home -- I hadn't even taken off my hospital bracelets. At the time Sebastian jumped into my lap, we joked that he was staking his claim among the heirarchy of siblings. But it soon became evident that it was her he cared most about. When there was something of hers to be slept in, he was there.

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When she was sick or needed comfort, he was there.

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When she went outside to play, he was there.

If you've read my blog or been my friend for the past few years, you'll know that we've lots a lot of pets recently. We've had quite the family of geriatric pets, and over time they've aged -- most with cancer -- and passed on ... Mister in '04, Samantha and Fluffy in '05, Toby in '06, Sammy and Thomas in '07, and Holly and Purrcy last year. For a while, I felt totally desensitized to pet losses; I'd endured so many lately that I'd become matter-of-fact about it all. Sure, I was sad, but I got over it pretty quickly.

This is different. Harder. I should have known, when I got news of Bassy's big C on my birthday and cried for five straight hours, that I wouldn't handle his death well. And I haven't. Bobby and I both sobbed and sobbed last night, and it hasn't gotten much better today. I cry at the drop of a hat, and when I came home from Bible study and saw that his body was gone (Bobby took him to the vet's while Maggie and I were gone), the dam was opened again. Not having him here has created a huge void in our home, a void that will take a long time to fill.

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I take that back. I don't think filling the void left by this handsome guy will ever be possible.