The Perfect Cat

How does one even begin to describe the perfect cat?  And trust me, Bass was perfect.  He was Jason’s cat whether I liked it or not.  I guess he got tired of missing J, so he joined him Saturday.

 

There are so many “Bass stories”.  Sherrie’s son Hunter was determined that I was going to name him Sunny Bunny.  I named him Sabastian P. Ale (yes, for the beer!  I love Bass Ale.)  It didn’t take me long to figure out that the P.  stood for Perfect.

 

He had to have weighed all of 6 ounces when I brought him home.  I took him to Tommy’s store so everyone could meet him.  He promptly began to walk across the counter, then, quick as lightening, sprawled, all four paws out, sound asleep.  He was adorable,  Red fur, the biggest golden eyes you’ve ever seen. 

 

I was a bit leery of introducing him to the dogs.  I had Bebo, Bucket and Bert.  Bucket and Bo were Mother and son, normal sized Chows, with Chow brains, or Chow lack of brains, however you choose to look at it)..  Them, I wasn’t worried about.  Then there was Bert, my beloved 200 pound St. Bernard.  Bert had no idea that he wasn’t a Chow.  He also didn’t know that he didn’t precisely fit in my lap, so that is where he frequently sat.  I walked into the kitchen with this tiny ball of fur, ready to snatch him up if I needed to.  Bass promptly walked over to Bert and slapped him on the nose.  And thus they became the best of friends.

 

He bit our best friend Barry on the nose.  We TOLD Barry that Bass was finicky.  Barry didn’t listen.  For the record, all of my furpeople have bitten Barry except Bama.  And she will if she gets half a chance.

 

Bass grew into a beautiful 25 pound Himalayan.  He was this huge ball of fluff, ruling the house.  He accidentally went outside once.  I still laugh when I think of him stepping on the grass, looking at his paw, looking at me…. and going back inside.  After that, it didn’t matter if you left the door open.  Fat P wasn’t about to go out there.

 

He had his favorite chair.  He loved to eat.  I have an auto-feeder for my cats.  When it was down to about a quarter of the way full,  Bass would find me and take me to it, to show me that he was almost out of food.  He was absolutely useless when it came to cat stuff.  There is a canal behind our house, so the entire neighborhood has cats to keep the rats away.  Bass didn’t care about the rats unless he thought his food was in jeopardy.  Then he expected me (yeah, right) to do something about it.  Bama and Buford got the last one.  Bass walked around it.

 

One of my (many) favorite memories is Jason sitting in the recliner,  Bass curled in his lap.  J had a towel tied around his head with ice packs in it… he’d just had all 4 wisdom teeth removed.  He looked at me with those huge blue eyes and said, “But Mom!  Nobody told me it was going to hurt!”  Sabastian looked totally affronted that his person was in pain.  If looks could cause physical harm, I’d have been hurt, the way Bass glared at me.  And hissed when I changed J’s ice packs.

 

He was 18, down to skin and bones.  Still loved to eat.  Wanted his treats when the dogs got theirs.  Insisted is a better word, and he could definitely be loud.

 

Before I left Friday morning, we had a long talk, Bass and I.  I told him him much I loved him, and how wonderful he was, but that it was okay for him to go find his boys and his dogs now.  He purred, for the first time in a while.  He licked my nose.

 

He’s buried in the back yard, with his favorite box and blanket.  I miss him so much already.  He was my last living piece of Jason.  In the first days of J’s absence, Bass stayed with me, curled around my head, offering comfort.  He knew.  And he mourned with me.  The same when Bo left, when Bert left, when Bucket left, especially when Rick left, when Andy left.  Through it all, Bass has been there for me.

 

To some, he was just a cat.  To me, he was an Angel.  My Mom even loved him (not as much as she loved Boomer, though!).  She called them the three old people in the house.

 

Thank you, Mr. God, for letting Bass pick me.  Thank you for 18 wonderful years.  I miss you, Bass.  I love you.  I always will.

 

Mr. God, I don’t often ask for anything for me.  There are too many other people whose needs are much greater.  But, if You could find it in your Heart to give me just a couple of days of reduced pain, I’d really appreciate it.

 

 

Mommy

 

 

 

 

Maximum respect,
 
Brenda Adkins, always Red’s & Red Man’s Mom
 http://www.theovernight.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=extranet.personalpage&confirmid=10009264
 Life isn’t the party I’d hoped for, but I’ll dance anyway, because my sons believed I would.

 

Jason August 5, 1974 – May 7, 2000
 
Rick August 5, 1974 – August 16, 2002 found August 24, 2002
You may not think the world needed you, but it did.   For you were unique: like no one that has ever been before or will come after.   No one can speak with your voice; say your piece; smile your smile; or shine your light.   No one can take your place for it was yours alone to fill.   Because you are not here to shine your light, who knows how many travelers will lose their  way as they try to pass by  your empty place in the darkness
I miss you, Andy.  Kick their butts for me, please.
http://www.runningwiththewind.com/

 

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