Dad! Come and see whats happened. Bennys brought home a family
Benedict was a classic English tabby, what in the neighbourhood was called a marquis pattern: his back shimmering dark grey, the same shade tipped his ears and tail, while his chest, bib, cheeks, neat white socks on his paws, belly, the tip of his tail and a triangular patch between his eyes were dazzlingly bright. His feline grace reminded one of the phrase as elegant as a grand piano. Bennys eyes were green and thoughtfulthe gaze of a seasoned singer serenading beneath windows at midnight.
Benny was an unusually well-mannered cat. He never jumped up on the table, never clawed at the furniture, nor did he get it in his head to push random objects off the sideboard like Isaac Newton, testing how things fall under gravity. Who knows what he was like as a kittenpossibly climbing curtains, toppling Christmas trees, chasing after toys. But when he came to us, he was already grown, his personality fully formed. Hed not always lived in a home.
Before arriving here, Benny had been residing in a garage belonging to a fishing co-op on the other side of the river. But there came a day when his presence attracted unwanted attention; a new garage manager took chargea chap absolutely devoted to dogs, and equally opposed to cats. That sealed Bennys fate. My brother-in-law, who worked there as a welder, brought him to us.
The managers terriers would tear him apart. Could you keep him? he pleaded.
So we agreed. Benny, looking for all the world like a handsome young bachelor, immediately embarked on improving the local feline genetics around the neighbourhood.
And please, dont throw slippers at me for mentioning outdoor roaming and the associated risks. This was the late Eighties, not London, but some small town out in the English countryside Back then, few people knew about proper vet care for cats, let alone neutering. If youd raised the subject with the half-sozzled farm vet, hed have looked at you as if you were mad.
But despite his excursions in matters of the heart, not one local cat became his chosen one. Benny treated them all equally, never favouring any. That was until she appeared Mabel.
That day, Id just returned home after a night shift, showered, and collapsed into bed. Closer to lunchtime, my daughter gently woke mejust back from school.
Dad, wake up, you have to see this. Bennys brought a family home
I shuffled down the hallway into the kitchen and froze. Benny sat upright, in a dignified pose: back arched, paws tucked in, tail neatly curled around his front, ears and whiskers forward
Right in front of him, three kittens squirmed on the floor. Their looks unmistakably declared their heritage: same dark backs, same white socks, same bibs, and the white-tipped black tails. I stepped closer and paused again at the next surprise.
From Benedicts bowl, gobbling down foodfish mixed with oatswas a shabby, thin tabby cat: grey-striped, with half-bitten ears and an anxious expression.
When she raised her head and looked at me, I froze anew: she had only one eye.
As I came to the door, my daughter began, they were all sitting on the doormatBenny out front. I was about to usher them out, but then I saw her eye
You did right to let them in! I replied, sharper than I meant.
I tried to touch the mother cat gently, but she tensed at once, recoiled, and hissed. She clearly hadnt trusted humans in a long while. It struck me that she hadnt been lucky enough to meet the kind of people Benny had. It was frightening to imagine what could have happened if the neighbourhoods tough terriers had found her with her kittens. And the fact that she had one eye spoke volumes about her life.
We decided to keep the whole family. And with that came the next surprise: Benny suddenly became thoroughly domestic! Whereas before hed fight other cats in our block for lady felines, his interest now was territorialnever again for romance. Beaten, scruffy after fights, hed always return home to his one-eyed companion.
Evenings found Benny and Mabel curled up in their nesta big box beneath our kitchen table. Benny would scrupulously clean his now healthier Mabel, paying special attention to her injured side.
Eventually, I managed to coax our animal specialist to treat herthough not without trouble. I had to drag him out by his coat collar, then offer him a bottle of gin, which, given the restrictions of the time, wasnt easily done.
We found homes for all the kittens. The gentlemen from the fishing co-op, learning the little ones were Bennys heirs, scooped them up as if they were the offspring of some famed pedigree cat. Others queued, thinking Mabel would produce more.
In time, Mabel had two more litters. Then she wandered off one day and never returned. Faithful she was not, as we eventually realised.
We searched for her for days: calling beneath the windows, walking the yard, checking abandoned sheds, combing through thickets. No sign. Thankfully, the last batch of kittensboth like and unlike Bennywere grown by then and quickly snapped up by those waiting.
Benny, though, grew gloomy. Hed sit for hours by the window, fixed on the street as if waiting for someone. Or wander the yard, now and again getting into furious tussles with other toms. But the new feline companions never brought him joyhe never again brought one home.
The only sign of his former romantic prowess was the young cats showing up, spring and autumn, with that unmistakeable marquis colouring. Living proof Benny still had a trick or two, even in his twilight years.
Benny entered his retirement around 1998. He stopped venturing outside, slept for 1819 hours a day, ate little. You could see age was claiming both body and spirit.
In July 1999, something changed. Benny began making plaintive noises by the front door, scratching the threshold, insisting to go outside. Knowing he never made such a fuss for no reason, I followedthough worried he might finally meet trouble.
Benny slowly descended our third floor like an old man, stumbling on each step as if his paws wouldnt obey him. He circled the house and headed toward the steep ridge about thirty yards away. I wanted to carry him, to help, but he fiercely resisted, his eyes shouting: Dont! I need to do this myself.
At the crest, he stopped by a winding ravine, full of many little burrows and hollows. He turned to me and looked me straight in the eyeas if to say something, or make me remember. His green eyes pierced me. Then, with unexpected agility, he darted into one of the tunnels and vanished.
I waited, called his name, listened for every rustle. Tried to crawl after him but only ended up with mud down my shirt and my hands in animal droppings. Unable to reach him, I went home.
At home, I washed up, grabbed a torch and bag of cat food, and returned. Called and waited again. Benny never appeared.
He never came back. Maybe its true what they saythat old cats leave to die, far from home. All that’s left is to believeor quietly hopethat the wild rose bush, with bright purple blooms that appeared by the southern side of the ravine the next summer, was not just any plant. Perhaps Bennyin another spectacular formlived on there.
Reflecting on all this, Ive learnt that kindness can change a life, whether it’s a human or a one-eyed stray. And how, even among cats, love isnt always forever, but loyalty is a precious thing, even until the end.
