Gentle Ben

If you have ever invited an animal companion into your home, you will understand the profound impact they can have on the physical, emotional and spiritual facets of your life. Companion animals teach us patience, understanding, unconditional love, joy and living in the moment. And when they are near the end of their physical lives, they teach us the even more valuable lessons of compassion, responsibility and the meaning of true selflessness.

Over the years, my sister Cari and I have shared our lives with many furry creatures and I have noticed that each animal has a distinct personality, not unlike us humans, but every once in a while there comes an animal that brings just a little bit more to their human family's lives. These special animals take on the role of healer, confidant and guardian angel in furry four-legged form. Ben was one such animal.

Like all our animals, Ben came to us as a rescue. His human family didn't want him anymore as they were expecting their first child. They had named him Corona. Corona was a very big, black, medium-haired cat with a gorgeous thick mane. He had a beautiful face with a regal nose and huge paws that had feathers of fur that grew between his toes making his feet look like snowshoes. The first time we looked into Corona's big green eyes, the color of moss deep in the forest, we knew he was nothing like a Mexican beer. In that first moment of our meeting, he became Gentle Ben.

Ben adored life and all the pleasures it held. He loved to eat, to be groomed and to play with his blue and purple fuzzy cat toys. He also had this strange obsession with water. He loved drinking out of faucets and fountains and took great delight in sploshing the water out of his water dish with his huge paws. Ben's favorite pastime was to sit amongst the flowers in our backyard and quietly watch the butterflies and bees.

Up until the time he came to live with us, Ben had been an indoor cat. When we let him outside for the first time, we put a harness and a lead on him to make sure he didn't wander away. That night we accidentally left him outside. I know you are probably thinking, "How do you forget your cat outside?" We had several other cats sharing our home at the time and when it came time to let everyone in, I assumed Cari had brought Ben in and she assumed I had. I found him early the next morning just where I'd left him, none the worse for wear, and as far as I could tell he never held it against us. From then on, we let Ben roam the backyard unfettered by a harness and he never once attempted to escape. He was content to lounge in the sun, smell the flowers and watch life go by.

Ben was a very affectionate being. Unlike some cats, he never ran for cover when strangers came to visit or played aloof. In fact, he would seek out people and revel in their affection. He had such an easy-going disposition that he would allow children to pick him up and carry him. He loved to be held tight in a bear hug and he adored having his head kissed. So much so, that he would lean in presenting his forehead waiting for us to plant loving kisses on his head. When he was really content, especially when someone was rubbing his belly, he would make the sound like the cooing of a dove. It was not a purr but a soft coo, the sound of ecstatic and blissful joy.

Ben came into our lives when both Cari and I were struggling through the emotional terrain of divorce and saddened by the loss of our beloved animals, Duffy, our dog, and, Mommy, our cat. Ben knew when our minds were weary with stress or our hearts heavy with sadness. When I was hurting, he would snuggle up with me, look me straight in the eye and gently place his furry paw gently on my cheek as he purred his love from deep within his chest. He would spend as much time with each of us as we needed and when he was done his quiet council, I always felt lighter of spirit as if he helped to release my pain.

This summer Ben came down with several unexplained bladder infections. We took him to the vet each time and followed the prescribed treatments. During one of his visits, the vet mentioned the possibility of cancer but she said it was a remote possibility, as Ben seemed to be recovering. This fall, as the land slowly released itself to the quiet slumber of the coming winter we noticed Ben was definitely not feeling well. He had no appetite and was lethargic.

I had to work the day Cari took him to the vet. Little did I know it would be the last time I would see Ben. After x rays and exploratory surgery, the vet discovered that Ben's body was riddled with cancer. Cari called me at work to tell me that Ben was not coming home.

On what turned out to be his last few days with us, Ben sat quietly on the arm of the chair looking out the window watching the rain slowly turn to snow. I realize now that he had wanted to go outside just one more time to feel the wind ruffle his fur, to feel the cool earth under his paws and to smell the intricate mixtures of the forest in the fall. I will always regret not noticing what he wanted and granting him his last experience in the nature that he so loved.

I know that all of us beings are energy, and energy cannot be created or destroyed - it just changes form. Although Ben is no longer physically with us his soul, his essence, still exists but in a place that I can't reach him. I miss being able to see him and to reach out and stroke his fluffy soft fur.

I have gone through the pain of losing members of our animal family several times and I will continue to open my heart and my home to these much-loved creatures. I believe the nature of our lives is a dichotomy; to truly appreciate the feeling of unconditional love you must also open yourself up to feel the terrible sense of loss when our loved ones are no longer here.

So my dearest Gentle Ben, thank you for choosing to spend your life with us, thank you for your gentle heart, your love and for blessing us with your beauty and your kindness. And even as my tears fall and my heart aches with the unbearable pain of you not being here, I know that this is not goodbye but farewell until we meet again in a place where there is no sickness, or sadness or pain. And when my time comes, I look forward to having you welcome me home. I will scoop you up in my arms in a fierce hug and kiss your beloved forehead once again.