She came out so cautiously, with her long, long legs, bow-legged in the back. She was matted and scrawny, avoided eye contact, lapped up the tuna juice and crawled back under the bed. 

And when we brought her home, she stayed under the bed for six weeks. When she finally came out, I reached out my hand and she let me pat her. I stroked her belly and cried because she trusted me.

She was covered in dreadlocks, and I explained to her that I had cut them off her and she let me. She knew she could trust me.

She was a reluctant eater, and we soon realized that she loved gravy but not the actual food. So we took a third of a can, smashed it up into a paste, microwaved it for 8 seconds and then mixed it with water. She loved her gravy. We gave her dry kibble and she loved it fresh out of the bag.

And then she got her confidence back. Her playful side came out. How she loved plastic. We had a plastic bag from the Dollar Store in the kitchen for three years because Ben loved it. It was ragged and thin but it was Ben’s bag and so we left it until she finally got bored with it. 

I got so happy when she’d come and visit me in my study. She’d jump on my table and look for things to knock off. I miss that furry-toed little paw reaching out slowly, slowly and then bam, there went my lip balm. Then she’d look at me like “pick it up, I want to do it again.” 

She had her routines. She loved a solid two hours of being patted by my husband in the mornings. And I couldn’t budge him until the Ben had decided she’d had enough and was ready to move on. 

The minute I put something on the floor; she’d sit on it. 

When I had a migraine, she snuggled up to my head and purred (she didn’t purr often) and I always thought that her purring was healing.

I miss her little cat kisses. I miss her yowling when she wanted attention. I miss how she raced up and down the stairs. I miss putting down a bag, turning around and seeing Ben sitting. I miss brushing her. I miss rubbing her tummy and taking care of her. I miss talking to her. 

She was our family. Me, Brad and Ben. She had such personality, she was so feisty, so loving, so incredibly funny. She was demanding, giving, playful, and she had the best “don’t mess with me” glare on this planet.  

She made the most beautiful noises, like a little bird, which is why we called her Benny Ethel Birdsong. She trilled and murped and yowled and meowed and chatted and then she fell quiet. 

She fell ill ten years too soon. She fell ill so suddenly that we hardly had time to process it. And then she was gone. 

Thank you, Benny Ethel Birdsong, for every single second in which you enriched our life. You’re a legend, my incredibly soft, furry, feisty, kind and beautiful little cat. Our duchess, who will live forever in our hearts.