He is beautiful and people-oriented. But he just doesn't play well with others.

In the house, he stalks the whiners like Tiny or the helpless like Slippers. And pees on things if he doesn't get his way. If I put him in the shop, he picks fights with Snickers, who kicks his ass every time. I came home from work one evening to find him with a bloody hole on the side of his head. There were skiffs of white and Snickers-colored fur in clumps around the shop refrigerator. Snickers was unharmed.

*sigh*

So Beebers lives in the downstairs bathroom when he's not out in his private cat run. It isn't a lifestyle that can continue. He has to get integrated some time.

He has already been on most psychotropic drugs known to veterinary science. The town pharmacist looks at me askance now, even though I *told* him the diazepam and buspirone were for my cat.

I truly believe that love can overcome anything. But BeBe is a challenge. But he is also a legacy, a promise I made to the dead. He has a home here for the rest of his life, no matter how difficult he is.

BeBe was originally "Benny's Boy"--the name we gave the white kitten our neighbor got for company in 1999. Benny was an older man who lived alone across the road from us. He was a nice guy and Denny frequently helped him with his projects and kept his driveway clear of snow in the winter.

Benny's white kitten was wary and shy until I began growing catnip in the greenhouse the summer of 2000. After I had plied him with fresh catnip leaves a few times, he would come running to us whenever we went outside. Frequent bribes won us his trust, though I worried about him. Being allowed free rein outside virtually guarenteed his life would be exciting but short. On the evenings that I drove home after dark, I would cringe whenever I spotted anything pale lying along the road side, fearing the worst. I did not want to find Benny's Boy dead, but history had proven it was just a matter of time.

December 14th, 2000, was a gray and windy day--rain falling on frozen ground. I worked the day shift, but it was still dark as I headed into town. Before I got to the top of the first hill up from Green Timbers, my heart twisted--there was something white and fluffy lying beside the road. Oh, god--I don't want to see that...

I got to work, my emotions jumbled. I no sooner signed in than I told Michael--"I have to run back home." I had to know--was that Benny's Boy beside the road? Would I be the one to bring him home for the final time and break the news to Benny? Damn--I did not want to do that, but I couldn't leave him lying there.

By the time I got turned around and back up the hill toward home, it had brightened enough that I could see what lay so broken beside the road--a rabbit.

I heaved a sigh of relief, even as I offered a prayer for the unfortunate one. I continued on home to turn around. I glanced toward Benny's--should I make sure his kitty was home safe anyway? No--on a day like this, any sensible cat would be inside. I went back to work, my heart a bit lighter.

Over the next few days, something niggled at me, just on the edges of my mind. I noticed that Benny's house was dark each night when I came home, his truck unmoving. On Saturday, with the wet, stormy weather continuing, I was outside in the yard when I heard a cat crying. Benny's Boy was under the white truck, hunkered down and looking unhappy. I wondered what he was doing out in the weather, but figured he was used to a certain amount of freedom. It bothered me that he cried, though--that wasn't like him. he wasn't a vocal cat. But it seemed he was trying to tell me something.

As the next week started, I was worried about the situation. Benny's house remained dark. His cat drifted aimlessly through our yard, as if he didn't want to go to his own home. Something was wrong. Had Benny went Outside for the holidays and left instructions for someone to care for his cat? Whoever it was wasn't doing a very good job of it...

When Benny's Boy showed up on our deck on Tuesday morning, I offered him a bowl of food. While he ate eagerly, I glanced across the street and saw a car parked in Benny's drive. Someone was going in and out of the house. When BeBe had finished his meal, I scooped him up in my arms and took him across the road to his home, determined to find out what was going on.

An older gentleman watched me approach. "You have the cat," he said. "Good. I tried to catch him but he wouldn't come to me."

"We bribe him with catnip. He's been hanging around our house for the last few days. Is Benny out of town?"

That's when he told me Benny was dead. He had missed a weekly breakfast date on Friday, and on Sunday, his friend had come out to find Benny dead by the cold wood stove--he had apparently had a heart attack while building a fire. They estimated he had been dead for three or four days. The door had been left ajar--as if he had been bringing wood in--and BeBe had been left alone to come or go as he would with only his master's dead body for company.

I remembered the disturbed feelings I had had the previous Thursday and wondered if that had been the morning Benny had died. He had been so much in my thoughts that day--worrying about how I would tell him that his little companion was dead. How ironic if even while I was worrying about him, he had already been gone.

That did explain why his little white cat had been so unhappy, out in the rain on Saturday. I tightened my grip on BeBe. "We can take care of the cat," I offered.

"Do you know anyone who might want him?" the man asked. Just try to take him away from me, I thought. I had grown to love the little white cat over the summer.

"We'll take him--we'll be happy to take him. We have always liked him and he'll have a good home with us. It's the least we can do for Benny." I took his food dishes and his litter box and the scratching post Benny had made by hand for him, and I brought Benny's cat to his new home.

So on December 19th, 2000, Benny's Boy became our boy.