Only sort of my cat…but my heart’s broken nonetheless.
My friend has been a dog person all his life and was perhaps even a cat hater. But just about a year ago, a stray showed up in the neighbors’ yard. He was a kitty that wanted to be loved – came over when we talked to him, wanted to be petted. He was a scrawny, scruffy orange-and-white guy, obviously not in good health – bloody discharge from his nose, sneezing.
As homeless kitty purred and head-bumped us, my friend said, “He looks hungry. Should I feed him?” I said, “Feed him if you want, but know that if you do, he’s yours. There’s no turning back.”
In a matter of minutes, the cat was in the house plunked down before a plate of tuna. “I have to think of a name for him, a good German name,” my friend said. We had been dealing with a set of Borbet wheels we wanted to put on eBay when the cat appeared, so Borbet he was named.
Two very expensive courses of antibiotics eventually cleared up the respiritory infection, and with regular meals, the scrawny coat became beautiful and silky – like an angora’s coat.
Borbet was a lover – one of those “fall down in front of you” cats, always wanted to be next to you, slept with my friend every night. He became a total cat convert. “I thought cats were aloof!” He indulged Borbet ridiculously. Borbet recognized the sound of his car and would run to the door to greet him when he heard it.
I took care of Borbet a lot on the weekends when my friend was away, so I came to love him, too.
My friend wrestled endlessly with the indoor/outdoor question. I argued strenuously for indoor only, but Borbet, having spent the first part of his life outdoors, was a “dash for the door” cat, so Steve finally gave in and let him be an indoor/outdoor cat, because he felt Borbet was happier that way.
The last time we took him to the vet, the vet said, about the indoor/outdoor thing, that if cats have grown up outside, it’s very difficult for them to be indoor-only cats.
I stopped by Steve’s house today so we could deal with another eBay item, and the kids next door said, “Where’s Borbet? We haven’t seen him all day!” We both dismissed it. He’d stayed out past dinnertime before. But I had that, “This isn’t good” feeling.
I went home, then had to go back out to go to the grocery store. I chose a particular store and route because it would take me through Borbet’s neighborhood, and damn if I didn’t find him. I saw the orange-and-white body stretched out on the sidewalk.
I whipped around the block to Steve’s house and told him I had found him. He jumped in my car, and we went round to get him and bring him home. He picked up the stiffening body (must have happened early in the day) and cradled him in his arms as I drove back to the house. Sweet boy with his beautiful silky fur, eyes closed…
I told Steve he had given Borbet a year of heaven on earth. With that respiritory infection, he would have met a fate far worse, and sooner, if Steve hadn’t taken him in.
We buried him in the back yard. RIP, my beautiful Borby Boy. You were a very good kitty. We’ll see you at the Rainbow Bridge.
RIP, Borbet. I’m glad your last year on Earth was a happy and love-filled one.
