twitchyKnits

Last night, we lost one of our herd of felines. Beebee, one of the two boys (of five kittens altogether) died last night. We’re not sure what happened, but suspect a vehicle was involved. Luckily all of my other babies are fine.

Beebee was born May 19, 2008 while I was at work. My mom helped deliver the kittens and texted me to let me know all five were happy and healthy, as was Mama Cat. He was one of the two tiger-striped cats.

Beebee was the last kitten to open his eyes. For a while, we were concerned that something had gone wrong with him, that his eyes were messed up, or maybe he was having trouble developing properly. One day I gave all the kittens a bath to help get rid of some of the fleas. Not a single kitten enjoyed this experience, but Beebee squalled the loudest. He cried so hard, his eyes came open a little bit. They opened normally after that, and he turned out fine.

He got his name from the fact that his eyes hadn’t opened—B. B. stood for Blind Bat. Later, when they got bigger and he proved himself to be a bit of a bully, it stood alternately for Billy Badass or Big Bully.

He was one of the sweetest cats I’d ever known. He’d let you rub his belly for hours if you wanted. He’d crawl into your lap and fall asleep, purring. He liked to curl up with me if I was taking a nap, or lean over my shoulder and watch me knit. He was the admitted favorite of the family, especially my dad.

He looked a little silly, as baby animals do, but as he got bigger he grew into a beautiful little cat. He’d had really big paws, so we expected he’d grow into a much larger cat than the others. He wasn’t without faults, though. He was the only one who still had trouble with the concept of “the bathroom is outside”, and more than once I’d wake up in the middle of the night to clean up a present he’d left for me.

He answered to Beebee, baby boy, the beebinator, the beebster, little beebs, and fuzzball. When he felt like it.

I love you, little fuzzy.