2007 – 2020, RIP
In January 2007, Benny was born, in a litter of Burmese kittens. As a pedigree cat, his owners doubtless had hopes of selling him on at a premium price.
Unfortunately, Benny’s front leg was slightly wonky. It just wasn’t totally straight, although whether this was congenital or as a result of a later mishap is not known.
In the years that followed that leg definitely caused him some mild discomfort, as he used to shuffle that leg a bit when sitting down to get it into a position that was more comfortable.
That wonky leg, alone, probably precluded Benny from being any kind of show cat, even though he was one of the most beautiful cats I’ve seen.
We don’t know what happened with Benny between then and 2012, some 5 years later He appeared on the Bacon radar when my daughter, Kirsty, bought her first house in north Milton Keynes, UK.
Kirsty has inherited both my wife’s and my love of animals, and then some. She immediately noticed several cats at the back of the shared driveway to her house that she deemed were somewhat neglected and needed “feeding up”, and proceeded to buy tins of cheap cat food and giving them all an additional meal now and again. She’s done this all over the world from Sri Lanka to Australia. She just cares.
Benny, however, seemed particularly forgotten. He was without doubt the friendliest cat there but didn’t seem to have a home. Some detective work by Kirsty and her neighbour eventually determined where he belonged, and so they discovered his name, but they didn’t seem to be bothered about Benny at all.
From mid-2012 to June 2014 Kirsty took it upon herself to feed Benny regularly and her neighbour kindly allowed Benny to sleep in her shed in a box lined with a warm blanket. Many were the occasions when Kirsty was dashing off to work, but realised she had not fed Benny so got out of her car, put down food for him and only then continued her journey. I truly believed this ensured Benny survived each winter, as well as creating a bond between Kirsty and Benny.
Action needed to save Benny
In June 2014, we visited Kirsty and happened to see Benny come down from the neighbour’s roof for his food. He didn’t look great, still being underweight and now with a swollen cheek that was causing him some distress.
Kirsty decided the time had come to contact the RSPCA. This is a large UK-based charity, the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. They take in feral, injured and mistreated animals on a daily basis and bring them back to health and rehome them if they can. So Kirsty reported that this cat was being neglected and waited for a response.
One day, whilst Kirsty was at work, the RSPCA arrived, identified Benny and took him away. Kirsty could not get any information from them as Benny was now part of an animal mistreatment case. For two weeks she hit the bureaucratic brick wall of silence. She pleaded with them and said she would adopt Benny, but the RSPCA stated this would be impossible as she lived so close to his original home Benny would surely just try and go back there.
So Kirsty broached the subject with us, basically informing us that we would have to adopt him if all else failed. I know; we were volunteered, against our better judgement at the time. We had repeatedly said that our pets caused so much grief at their passing we just couldn’t have another one. We should have listened to our own advice. Or, in Benny’s case, maybe not.
We found out, some years later, that Benny had been brought to an RSPCA-partnered vets near Milton Keynes. There his fate was considered by the vet and the RSPCA. He had the Calicivirus, symptoms of which include severe inflammation of the mouth, redness and bleeding from the mouth (chronic stomatitis) and an ulcer or eroded area on the tongue (dead tissue area). One (perhaps controversial) treatment is to remove all the teeth, as the virus lives around the teeth. Benny’s life hung in the balance as the pros and cons of saving him were considered. It was the fact that he had some foster parents lined up (yes, that’s us) that swung the pendulum in his favour, according to the vet.
More info on the Calicivirus here (opens in new tab)
And so all Benny’s teeth were removed (apart from the tiny ones at the front), he was given a course of antibiotics and steroids and, after two weeks, Kirsty was told we could collect him. We were adopting him (not just fostering) but the RSPCA offered to cover the cost of all future treatment to his mouth that was calicivirus-related, as though he was being fostered. Nice of them and that’s one reason why I support the RSPCA to this day.
Imagine this: a neglected cat that had all its teeth removed, shut in a small cage all day for two weeks whilst he recovered, suddenly being given to two total strangers.
Friendly, Benny might be, but we had the feeling he was just going to run off and hide behind the sofa when we got him home. It’s what scared cats do, after all.
We got home, shut the utility (laundry) room door so he couldn’t run under the sofa, sat on the floor cross-legged and opened the pet carrier not knowing what to expect from Benny. We certainly were unprepared for what happened. Benny jumped gracefully out of the carrier, circled us once or twice and then promptly sat in Anita’s lap.
I can’t remember if he was purring but he didn’t seem scared in the slightest. He just wanted fussing. And so Anita fussed him and made all the right goo-ing and gah-ing noises. After a short while he got up and came over to me and repeated the same action. He instinctively seemed to know that he was safe and had arrive at his “fur-ever home”. We were overwhelmed by his total acceptance of us. And from that moment he stole our hearts, forever.
So how does a cat with no teeth eat? Better than you might think, apparently.
In the early days we had to hand feed him wet cat food, from our hands as he refused to eat it off the dish. We think this might have been an anxiety thing, or perhaps his gums hurt him after the op (you think?) ; we were just glad he was eating proper cat food however yukky it was for us. Actually, despite it being a bit yukky we didn’t mind at all, this was for the good of Benny (BCE).
However, after some weeks of this, we reckoned he was just trying it on, so we tried to encourage him to eat directly off the dish by dispensing a small amount of “squirty cream” (in an aerosol) onto his food.
It turned out that this cream was Benny’s favourite food in the whole world. He liked it so much we had to ensure we only gave him the “lite” version as he refused to eat cat food unless some was put on it! Talk about making a rod for your own back.
Eventually he ate his food from his plate without extra encouragement and without the cream, although he would often ask for cream by looking meaningful at us, then at the fridge where it was stored. How much more plainly could he talk?
I’m so happy that I gave him a small (golf-ball sized) blob of squirty cream every night with his last spoonful of cat food. Anita would often admonish me for doing this, worried that it was not good for his health, but Benny loved it. And I loved that he loved it. Win win.
In his last few days with us he would not even eat the squirty cream, let alone proper cat food. It broke our hearts that he would refuse even this, his wonderfood. We knew that things were bad at this point and that we had to “do the right thing”.
For the next 18 months, from July 2014 to February 2016, Benny had to have treatment for his mouth which would flare up every 6 weeks or so with blistering and redness as the calicivirus took hold again. We would check his mouth whenever he yawned, which happened quite often as he loved a snooze in his bed. He could sleep for 20 hours a day, no trouble at all.
We’d take him to the same RSPCA-partnered vet who would give him the required steroid and antibiotic jabs (plus the usual annual immunisations) and also give us some Virbagen Omega suspension in saline, which is a sort of anti-HIV drug for animals. It is not yet known whether it is truly effective against the calicivirus but the RSPCA agreed to give it to him so we gave him just 1 millilitre every day of his life, straight into his mouth from a syringe. Never once did he object; it really was as though he knew it was helping him. Or that he just trusted us, completely.
After his steroid and antibiotic jabs we would go home which took about 15 minutes. During that short time Benny would already start to recover and would happily eat some food as soon as we got home. Over the next 24 hours all the redness in his mouth disappear and he’d be back to normal. Amazing recovery. Until the next time, of course.
In February 2016, about 18 months after we had adopted him, Anita and I suddenly realised that Benny had not been exhibiting the usual symptoms that indicated his mouth was playing up. We checked the diary and were astonished to find that 8 weeks had elapsed since his last steroid treatment. We were initially horrified that we could be so remiss but after inspecting his mouth we could only see pale pink gums and tongue – no redness or soreness at all.
Nonetheless, we still took him to the vets who checked him out and identified a tiny area where the gum was redder than it was supposed to be. Generally, though, he was fine. We were on tenterhooks as to whether he was “cured” or whether it was just a temporary reprieve.
As it turned out, he never needed another steroid/antibiotic injection again. He had vanquished the calicivirus after some 18 months of treatment. What a wonderful day that was!
The vet’s suggestion was that we continue with the Virbagen Omega solution, which we did. Whether it had any effect on him at all remains unclear but never once did he refuse it or make any kind of fuss, for the six years he was with us. And the Calicivirus never made a reappearance either.
The Good Years
Benny wasn’t lazy, but anything that required some effort on his part was too much for him.
If you rolled a ping-pong ball towards him he would swat it, and even swat it again unless it rolled out of outstretched paw reach, at which point he gave up.
He’d then roll onto his back so we could fuss his tummy. His tummy was the last place his fur grew back properly. When he arrived, back in 2014, his tummy was only sparsely populated with very fine down. You could easily see his pink tummy skin. By 2016 the tummy fur was thick and luscious, typical of a Burmese. We loved to rub it, and in turn he loved us doing it. Win win.
The exception to all this sloth was usually at 4am in the morning when I’d be woken by what seemed to be a stray hippopotamus running around downstairs. In reality, it was Benny chasing one of his many small toys around, including that ping-pong ball. Just to change the mood he’d sometimes chase a small, hard plastic ball with a bell in it. I think he did this to ensure we were involved in his antics. He probably used up all his energy in those 10 minutes which meant he just had to sleep the rest of the day away.
During this time I was working and got up around 6am, sometimes before Benny had got up, sometimes not. Once I gave up working (I won’t say “retired” as I’ve never worked harder) Benny was my alarm clock. If I wasn’t up by 6am he’d jump on the bed with a gentle meow and head-butt me until I responded. If I didn’t respond, hoping perhaps he’d let me sleep on, the head and nose-butting would get more intense. Although he’d accept a fuss at this time, his real agenda was to get his breakfast by getting me up.
Benny could not always meow. When he first came to us he had no voice at all. We didn’t know at the time that he was a Burmese cat either. We Googled it and found that Burmese cats are quite vocal, being related to the Siamese cat, form strong bonds with their “owners” and are very sociable. They are also, apparently, very playful but Benny must have been a throwback if you read my comment above about everything being a bit too much trouble for him. But he had his occasional, mad 10-minute moments when he would rush around the house like a cat on speed. This often happened after he had used his cat tray. Just sayin’.
One early morning, after about six months with us, we heard this tremendous wailing in the lounge. Yes, it was Benny, who had found his voice and now sounded more like a Siamese than anything else. Luckily for us, he only emitted those sounds occasionally, when he was particularly excited at seeing a squirrel, for example. But, although he could now meow like a regular cat , mostly, many of his meows were silent, right up to the end.
Benny, like most Burmese, had a strange dog-like ability to understand the spoken word. Somehow, he could understand some commands, although the one he always responded to was “Want some cream?” at which point he would run, not walk, to his feeding station, ready for his dinner.
Nighttime was a tried and tested ritual with Benny. He’d notice when we were getting ready for bed and demand his splodge of cream with his tiny supper. Then he’d come up to bed and snuggle Anita, regardless of whether she was reading or doing the crossword. If she didn’t acknowledge him he’d just swat the book, or try and sit on it, until she took notice and snuggled him.
For my part, he’d come over to me whilst I sat watching TV in bed and try and nose or gum rub. Then he’d lay down on my tummy / chest and expect fusses. Many were the occasions when he would climb up my torso and expect me to literally catch him and cradle him like a baby, all the while expecting snuggles, cuddles and belly rubs. Eventually, at over 5Kg he’d be too heavy for me so I’d drop my arm a bit and he’d get off and go into his bed. So well trained! So was Benny.
When the TV went off and I lay down with the lights off, he’d often climb out of his bed, walk up my body (and at 5.3kg he was no lightweight) and snuggle in the crook of my shoulder, his head just inches from mine, whilst purring like a tractor. He often fell asleep there, only returning to his bed if I moved. This happened most nights for the best part of six years. He was so affectionate to us.
He did this shoulder snuggle thing during the night too. Often I would wake up, or be woken up, during the early hours with Benny already snuggled in my arms, purring contentedly. I’m so pleased to say I never pushed him away, not even when I had to to go to work the next day at 6am. After all, he was just saying how much he loved me. And so we would snuggle for 20 minutes, after which he would return to his bed. I’m sure I was sleep-deprived for years because of this.
The Decline of Benny
Benny’s decline was as sudden as it was swift. We noticed in June 2020 that he had a small red lump in his mouth, under the tongue. It was only really visible when he yawned but we noticed it was getting bigger so we took him to the usual vets.
It pains me to say that one of the vets screwed up, big time. It appears he was so keen to remove the lump that he either damaged the nerves of the tongue during surgery or removed so much of the muscle that controlled the tongue that when Benny was returned his tongue lolled out of his mouth with little control. Benny could no longer eat or drink by himself.
If the vet had not bungled the op, Benny would have still had cancer, of course. He would still have had only a short time with us, possibly shorter than it turned out because the lump in his mouth would have grown. But at least he would have been able to eat normally during his last few weeks with us. I’ll never forgive them for this blunder.
We syringed some water into Benny using some special recovery syringes just to keep him hydrated but this was not the answer. He couldn’t even lick his wonderfood cream off my finger as his tongue came out of his mouth at a 45-degree angle and didn’t have a licking action.
Within a day or so he was back at the vets having a feeding tube inserted so that special recovery food, in liquid form, could be syringed directly into his tummy. Benny liked neither the tube, nor the cravat he now had to wear to keep the tube in place nor the food, which I tasted and it reminded me of the American grits, otherwise known as wallpaper paste with added sand. He just sat in a hunched up position in his bed. He was not happy.
To add insult to injury, just as the feeding tube had been surgically inserted, and Benny was still in recovery at the vets, the practice rang to say the biopsy of his lump had shown an aggressive mouth cancer, called oral squamous cell carcinoma and, by the way, did we want Benny put to sleep? You know, as he’s here and all that.
We immediately declined that rather unfeeling suggestion (vets, like some farmers, seem to lose their empathy over time) and collapsed into sobbing wrecks. Our wonderful Benny had cancer. It was unfathomable that this could be the case. How long had he got? Was there any treatment? How was he (and how were we) going to cope?
We were distraught at the thought that this tongue problem was going to be permanent but little improvement over a week could be seen. Eventually, after a week of the feeding tube palaver, Benny started throwing up his recovery food. Back to the vets, who rather offhandedly suggested that the tube might be in the wrong place or that the cancer had already spread so much he couldn’t eat anyway. We agreed the feeding tube should be removed and that we’d feed him liquidised food until such time as he recovered or… well, we didn’t finish that sentence, as we knew what it would mean.
New (empathetic) vets
When Benny returned from having his feeding tube removed he was ecstatic, purring and fussing us. He was so pleased to see us it was heartbreaking, mainly because we knew this was only going to end one way eventually.
We didn’t want to take him on the relatively long car journey to his existing vet any more, especially not after the botched op, so we changed vets at this point, using the much closer, local one with which he was already registered for his annual jabs.
He still couldn’t eat anything by himself but at least we could syringe feed him, via his mouth, which he tolerated amazingly well. We figured that at least he was tasting the food, and swallowing it, so he would know he had actually eaten something. We felt that psychologically it was better for Benny.
We continued this syringe feeding for a whole month, 3 or 4 times a day, anything between 2 and 4 syringes per meal. We tried to ensure he “ate” the equivalent of at least two tins of cat food per day, sometimes three.
In addition to his tongue issue, he also hyper-salivated now. Our new vet suggested that the old vets had perhaps damaged a saliva duct when he was operated on. It was another cross to bear for him, and another thing for us to deal with as he tried eating.
After a month, in August 2020, we noticed he had an improved control of his tongue, and could lick things better, so we put the liquidised food on a plate, along with some squirty cream and other liquid cat food. He lapped it up, without too much trouble, apart from the yukky, stringy saliva which we cleaned up for him as he seemed to find it a problem.
For the next month it was a mixture of us syringing, and Benny slurping up, the liquidised food. He was getting much better at eating non-solid food even though his tongue never went back to normal.
Throughout August 2020 we had a new mealtime routine, with Benny instinctively understanding that feeding would now take place in the cat run where we could hold him, if required, at worktop counter height. We were all lucky it was a warm summer in the UK that year.
He now ate just about all liquidised food from his plate. I was getting quite hopeful he would make it to Christmas 2020. Yes, things were definitely looking up.
Then, towards the end of August 2020, Benny suddenly declined all offers of food and didn’t want to lap the liquid food off the plate. He even refused the wonderfood of squirty cream. Although we could still feed him using the syringes it was obvious things had taken a turn for the worse. We discovered that he had another lump under his tongue, which was starting to loll out of his mouth again. He didn’t look very happy.
He also looked old, quite suddenly. His normally dark brown face was now mottled grey. His whiskers were white with tiny blobs of brown. He was 13 years old (nearly 14) but looked older. And he didn’t want his squirty cream.
Anita and I knew what this meant. Once again, we were reduced to sobbing wrecks and we couldn’t bear the thought of losing our Benny; that said, we knew that Benny’s quality of life was the only thing of importance. And that was in a tailspin. We delayed for a couple of days over the weekend to see whether he would improve; after all, he had proved that he was resilient. He didn’t improve. We made an appointment at the vet for Wednesday, 2nd September 2020 at 11am.
Last cuddles and snuggles
That night I couldn’t really sleep. I knew what was probably going to happen the next day and I was distraught at the thought of losing him. Benny seemed to have a relatively quiet night in his bed; I can’t remember if he came up during the night for a snuggle. What I do know is the nighttime snuggles were getting rarer as his condition deteriorated.
That morning I couldn’t bear the thought that Benny might be hungry so we gave him two syringes of his most favourite food at 7am which he tolerated but I’m not convinced he enjoyed particularly. But at least his tummy was not rumbling. At about 9am, as I came out of the shower, Benny appeared in the bedroom and indicated in his usual manner that he wanted a cuddle from me. And so we cuddled and snuggled for the last time.
It was so quiet that Anita wondered what was going on and found us both snuggled up on the bed so joined us. It was one of the few times when we both snuggled Benny at the same time. It was almost as though Benny knew what was going to happen and just wanted to say goodbye to use both. Yes, I know, it sounds like wishful thinking but I know Benny. And he just knew.
At eleven o’clock we were at the vets, in floods of tears, asking for the vet’s considered opinion that this was probably the end. She inspected Benny and reported, very sympathetically, that Benny had lost over 0.7kg in weight since she’d seen him a month previous, and that his mouth was quite red, he didn’t seem happy and there was only one way this was going to end.
We agreed with her that the time had come for us to do the “right thing”. We stayed with him as the vet slowly gave him the anesthetic overdose. We fussed him and told him we loved him as he first fell asleep, then his heart stopped and he was in no more pain.
We had a private, individual cremation for Benny. The lady who arranged it collected Benny from the vets and did all that was necessary, including snipping a bit of his tummy fur as a keepsake.
His ashes are in a pewter urn of a sleeping cat; this is very appropriate (and poignant) given that Benny could sleep for up to 20 hours a day.
Both Anita and I have had cats before and they were great. Their passing, some 30 years ago, caused a lot of grief which is why we resolved never, ever to have pets again. Then my daughter got a hamster as kids do, and later, a fancy white rat. Both caused considerable distress when they passed away. Never again, we said. No more pets.
But Benny was special. He was definitely the Best Cat Ever with his special, unique character. He just loved unconditionally and wanted love (in the form of cuddles and snuggles, good food and a comfy bed) back.
The bed is empty without him. I would never have believed how long and hard a grown man or woman could sob into a towel over a pet. But this was not any pet, this was Benny. Our wonderful Benny.
Anita and I find it very hard to even mention his name right now, one month after his passing. We still have our private grieving moments. I have made a photobook recording his journey with us over the years. Right now, it’s too painful to open. In a few months’ time, maybe.
Goodbye, Benny. RIP. In the six years and two months you were here you gave us so much love and, in return, you were the most loved cat ever.
We miss you so much and will never forget you.
Tags: Benny, Calicivirus, cat
It has taken me a year to share in your grief. The technical knowledge that you shared in your youTube channel was obviously the reason why we all kept viewing your videos but Benny was always my, and I am sure many others of my fellow subscribers’, favourite interruption. The, almost human, vocalisation of his entry to your studio was a joy. So many of us miss those feline contributions. Please accept my belated sorrow for your loss,
I do apologise: it’s taken me over 6 months to discover your comment, Michael; thank you for your kind words. The pain at Benny’s passing is as strong today as it ever was which is why I rarely come back to this site now; I will probably close it in the near future and post this article elsewhere.
The “good news” is that we are inheriting 2 cats from my daughter, who is going to Australia with her hubby and daughter. We shall see how they get on here. One, Millie, is almost as friendly as Benny whilst the other, Lili, will rip your arm off if you dare to even look at her.😲 My daughter assures me that Lili will become friendly in due course. We shall see. 😾
I am reading this after starting to enjoy your electronics videos. We’ve lost more than a few mogs in our day. With each and every one we cried at their passing. I could not not stay with them at the vet. I was just too chicken. So I admire your courage! But this is the way of things (I sound like the Mandalorian). We know that we’ll most likely outlive them. We have had as many as 6(!) at time (in a large home), now down to ‘only’ 3 (and a smaller home). We can never imagine life without them. But then it happens… life without them. Here’s my thing. After a time, though the pain never goes a way, the best way I honor them is giving another deserving cat the love and home I gave the one’s that came before them. And that’s what what we do. Petfinder.com. And we always look for young adults cats (I am partial to Polydactyls). Kittens are adopted quickly. Adults not so much. Anyway that is our way of getting over the loss. I am very much enjoying your videos! Cheers.
Thanks for your comment, Jeffrey. I only found your notification in my Junk folder today, so apologies for the delay in responding.
Please don’t think I was courageous by staying with Benny at the vets. Previously, with other cats we had, I was too chicken like you. In fact, I was to embarrassed at the thought of uncontrolled weeping in the presence of the vet. This time, 30 long years later, I didn’t care. Benny needed me. I was there for him. End of.
[Edit: thanks for bringing all these repressed memories back. Talk about uncontrolled weeping.]
I’d never heard of Polydactyls until your post. Google enlightened me! How strange. But often quite pretty too.
We won’t be getting another cat any time soon. Well, that said, my daughter is emigrating to Oz and has “gifted” her cat to us, when she goes. Unfortunately, if Benny was at one end of the soppy, snuggling scale her cat is at the other end. So we’re not looking forward to that at all. But we will give her a chance to live out her life here and she might even let us fuss her, occasionally!
I’m glad you’re enjoying my videos! It keeps me out of trouble (and out of my wife’s way). Win-win!
I’ve been watching your videos for a while but this is the first time I’ve looked at you blog and TBH I read this with tears in my eyes. We went through the same a couple of years ago with a beautiful cat that got a similar mouth cancer to Benny. It probably won’t be much comfort to you but if the vet had not removed the cancer he would have lasted only a week or two and would have been very uncomfortable. Maybe even in a lot of pain and distress as our cat was so perhaps it wasn’t for the worst.
My daughter brought home a kitten two days ago against my wishes but she was so keen I couldn’t say no but it was when she mentioned if this cat lived as long as our last one it would still be here when I’m 73 (I’m currently 56) that it kinda put things in perspective.
Keep making the great videos and thank you for sharing your love of Benny.
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Thank you for your empathy, Alibro. It’s been 10 months now, since Benny was put to sleep, and the pain is still very real.
As others have said, we gave him 6 good years, even if 18 months of that was with vet visits every 6 weeks for a booster shot. We still feel he had a good life. He seemed very contented, and gave us a million snuggles.
He loved his outdoor run (big enough for a small elephant) and loved the sunshine out there even more.
Now that I’ve thought about all this again there are many tears in my eyes as I write this. Sometimes the pain never goes it just gets pushed aside.
Such a beautiful story. I do not call cats and dogs pets, I call them new children. Thanks for the lovely post.
Thank you for your kind words, Geri.
It’s coming up to 3 months since Benny’s passing, feels like it was just yesterday and the pain is as raw as ever. Does it ever pass, I wonder?
But we do have wonderful memories of him, it’s just a shame that, right now, thinking about him is too painful.
Sorry, must dash, I’ve got something in my eye…
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Dear Ralph, It was really saddening to hear of the passing of Benny. I saw the video come up in my subscription feed, but put off watching it until today. In one respect, I am glad that I did watch it, as I got to see how much you and your family loved and looked after Benny. We have had several dogs and cats over the years, and it is always sad when their time comes. But we would not trade that time we had them for anything… They have brought us much fun, pain, laughter, sadness, and are our constant companions. Two of our cats tried their hardest to getting the way whenever I was studying, as if to say “You should be paying attention to us, not those boring books!”. Our vet story involved dehydration and bladder crystals with one of or two male cats (we only have seven)… big tomboys, but absolute softies. They have always had fresh water available, but with it being in their evolutionary past to get water from their food/meat, dry cat food is their enemy, and really only a convenience for us lazy humans. So from then on, they have been on a mostly tin meat and soaked cat biscuit diet, with occasional dry biscuits… and they have been happy every since. My heart goes out to you, Anita & Kristy, and I hope that you do get another furry companion to share your lives once the pain of Benny’s passing is past. You should be proud that you were able to ensure he had another six years of life, with a kind and loving family. Warm regards, Peter
Thank you for your kind, empathetic words, Peter, most appreciated.
It’s true about those dry cat biscuits being a source of many a UTI in cats. Because Benny had no teeth he could not eat them but we started to soak a few in hot water for a few minutes then give them to him with this normal food. That way, he got something different (which he enjoyed) plus even more liquid from the soaked biscuits. Win win!
As time passes, we don’t miss Benny any the less but we can think back and smile at the memory of his soppy antics – and then wish he were still here, of course!
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Sorry to hear about the lose of your pet. Having lost a labrador that I was much attached to some tears ago I feel your pain.
They become a member of the family.
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They certainly do become a valuable, loved member of your family, that’s for sure, Brian.
What a sad story. We know exactly what you’ve gone through and tears welled up when I was reading this.
We had a Kelpie dog, Yoppo. She was our best friend. One day she ran through the bush and a grass seed speared into her cheek. It started to become infected. We took her to the vet. She was operated upon to have the seed removed. Though, afterwards we figured out that she received the wrong medication. As a result her liver went in lockdown. To cut a long story short: We had the choice: Get a bloodtransfusion done at a cost of $6,000 (We had to look for the donor dog) but only with a succesrate of about 15% or to put her down.
We had no other option then to go ahead with the last option.
It was the worst day of our life. I took her lifeless body back home where we buried her with all her favorite toys near the dam. This all happened 3.5 years ago but the pain is still as raw as it was on that dreadful day. I still can’t walk near her grave or look at her grave.
We also said that we never wanted any other pets… until we saw an add on the RSPCA website for Tilly (A three month old abandonded kelpie who was found in the middle of a busy road). We took her on board and she’s wonderful. We know she will never be able to replace Yoppo but we love her to death. They all have their individual differences and that’s what makes them unique.
That’s the sad thing about pets: Cats and dogs live for 10 to 15 years. So, we all know the day will come when we will have to say goodbye. It is unfair and extremely hard to do so.
I feel sorry for you and your family. Hang in there mate and I’m sure you will find another pet to love.
Best greetings from Melbourne, Australia.
I think your story is even sadder than my own, Luc. I can only empathise completely. I’m glad you have Tilly. Perhaps one day we might get another cat, not to replace Benny, but just one we can love again.
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well written and sympathetic record of the gut wrenching loss of a favourite pet , 18 year after having to put my dog down I’m still in the “never again” phase
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I don’t blame you one bit for the “never again” attitude, chop. We said it many times but due to forces well beyond our control (my daughter) it did happen again. And yet, despite the sharp pain I still feel today at his loss, I do value greatly the 6 years we had with him. Anyway, I’m OK, I’ve just something in my eye, no really.
Hi Ralph, I too have lost my beloved cat’s, thanks for sharing this I know it wasn’t easy…takes quite a lot to tear me up, but cry I did !
My deepest sympathies to you and your family
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You, me… so many have lost pets that they truly loved, Andy, we are not alone. It doesn’t make it any easier but it does mean that it is normal to feel that way when their time has come. Thank you for your kind words.
Dear Ralph, Anita & Kristy, you have certainly given all the love and care to Benny and he has shown his deep appreciation over time. Parting form a loved pet is far more painful than many people can understand. My dog Ulisse died last January after almost 17 years of reciprocal love – I can’t say we’ve got over it yet… will we ever? We also had him cremated and he’s now in a nice urn… yes, in our bedroom. He used to sleep with us and – some nights – we still have the sensation he’s still there. I do understand you so much! Thank you for sharing your sweet tribute to Benny, indeed the BCE! We’ll certainly miss his comments to your projects…
Lots of love to your lovely family
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We “only” had Benny for 6 years, not 17 like you had Ulisse but it doesn’t seem to matter how long they were there, they have wrapped their paws around your heart. I constantly catch myself looking for Benny, on the bed, in his run… stupid, I feel his presence, and still very painful to realise they are gone.
Hi Ralph A very touching story Of a cat that had a hard time for most of his life benny deserved a better deal from life plucky little benny hope you are sleeping safe
regards to you and your family best wishes
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Benny had, on the whole, six great years with us, Martin, and vice versa. He didn’t deserve what happened in the end but that’s fate just twisting the knife. He’s sleeping safe now, in his urn on our sideboard. Not the same. We miss him.
I think this is a very well written tribute to a wonderful cat, it made me quite emotional and reminded me that our own fur-rocious creatures one day pass away.
My thoughts are with you and your wife. Stay strong, and treasure the memory of BCE.
With kind regards,
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Regrettably, Thomas, you are correct that our pets will pre-decease us, usually, and each time we’ve said “never again”. But fate had different ideas. What the expression? “God laughs as we tell him our plans.” So true. We have great memories of our Benny, BCE.
My sincere condolences. I can empathize with you as our family has recently lost a beloved dog. Nili was seventeen years old. She was an amazing companion to my widowed daughter and her triplets especially after they lost their father when they were seven years old. I identified very closely with you emotional story.
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It seems the whole world has already experienced what I am now experiencing, Stew. But we must just enjoy them when they are here and retain their memories when they are not. Nothing else to do really.
This is a very touching tribute to Benny, We also had to grief a pet in the past and went to get another few years after… and she is adorable.
Take the time to return to a “normal” life as it will get easyer as time pass.
My tought are with you and your wife!
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I’m glad you got another pet, Pierre. Perhaps one day we will be able to do this. Right now, we just have our memories of Benny, and many, many photos and videos.
Sent from my iPhone
I guess you’re not a cat lover. Bye.
Could you be any more of an arse?
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I feel sorry, I know how one loves these little creatures!
Quite so, Pedro. He was a delightful little creature ❤️
Nice, and therapy for all?
That was part of the intention, John. Getting it all out there. Not sure it worked though!