He was an accidental pet.  I had not wanted another pet.  The kids were grown, our pet days were over.  Well, so I assumed.  But then Jessi asked if we could keep him just a little while for her.  Not only him, but his brother.  Well, his brother only lasted a week and was hit by a car.  I remember when I called her to tell her Colin had died.  I was crying, not because I was sad about the cat, but I knew she would be so sad.   I said “Your cat died”  She asked me to repeat.  Twice more, then she repeated back weakly, “My DAD died?”  I hope she was relieved when she finally realized that it was her CAT, and not her DAD who had died.  Well, anyway, we continued to keep Basil for her. He kinda grew on me, even thought I didn’t want to get attached to a cat that I knew I was only temporarily keeping.  The weeks turned into a few months.  And through no fault of her own, the months turned in to years.  I had become a pet owner without expecting to.  Totally an accident. 

He was a pretty amazingly intelligent cat.  Maybe all cats are.  I had never had an indoor cat before.  When I was growing up, our cats always stayed outside.  We never got attached to them.  We always had cats by the back door, even though they were supposed to be barn cats, they knew where the people hung out and where people hang out, so there is food.  So when I got a house of my own and my own kids wanted cats, it was outside that they stayed.  That is what I had been taught. But when Basil and Colin arrived, they were indoor cats.  They had never been outside before.  Well, maybe a couple of times, but they had harnesses!  I mean, really, a harness for a cat?  They were afraid of the grass!  Gingerly they would touch it, and so gently step into it.  She had to teach them how to climb a tree!  But they caught on.  We told her that if they were going to stay with us for a while, there would be no more cutting their claws.  They would need those claws if they were going to be outside.  As soon as I could do it, I got rid of that litter box.  Basil didn’t seem to mind at all.  When we moved from one house to another, he was so quick to learn where the cat door was and only had the litter box for a tiny bit until I knew for sure he had it figured out.

Eventually, I changed the spelling of his name from Basil to Bazzel.  If he was going to be my cat, I was going to spell his name right.

One year at Christmas, he was laying there watching me decorate.  I stuck a couple of snowmen in front of him to play with.  He batted them around for a little while and then took one downstairs.  I continued to decorate.  Then suddenly, right in the place where I had given him the snowmen…was a dead mouse!  Nobody will convince me otherwise, that he had traded me the snowman for the mouse!

He learned which sofa he could sit on and he learned he could not claw them.  He learned he could not be on my bed.  Without Colin around, he stopped eating anything plastic.

He used to hack up hairballs…almost every night.  Ugh, what a way to wake up.  And every time I came home from a trip, I did a hairball search.  Sometimes he threw up his whole bowl of food.

It was fun to play with him with his little cat toys, his favorite one was a green whale.  He actually liked his green toys best. His favorite thing was to rub his head against my foot when I crossed my legs.  I don’t know if he thought I was signaling him or what, but every time I crossed my legs, up he would get and come over and rub on my foot.  And not just rub, he would hit his head hard. Over and over and over.

He never liked sitting on my lap, he was not a snuggler.  He liked to sit on the sofa next to me as close as he could be and demanded I pet him, while he kneaded his blanket and fell asleep.  When we got the leather sofa, I only had to tell him once to stay down and he never tried to jump up there again. (at least when I was around)

He was a great hunter!  He would bring in his prizes for me.  I can’t count how many times I would find a plump little mouse laying on the floor when I got up in the morning.  When we found a batch of baby chipmunks in the garage, I thought I had safely hidden them.  First thing the next morning, I found them lined up on the step to the house.  He brought in live baby bunnies, live chipmunks, birds.  I have a little net ready to catch and release them.  Thankfully, no snakes.  The most amazing thing was when, sadly, he brought in a humming bird!  How fast would he have to be to catch a humming bird?  Once while I focused my camera on a butterfly, he grabbed it, thus ending my photo shoot. 

He developed a habit of eating his food while I made my latte, then he waited for me by my morning porch door.  He would dart out the door like greyhound being released for its race.  At first when we got outside, he would be content to rub my foot if I had my legs crossed, then he would survey the bird feeder area for any birds feeding on the ground or if he was lucky a chipmunk to chase away.  Then he would lay at my feet for a while and go to sleep.  But suddenly in the past couple of weeks, he would get up in the chair next to mine, cross over the little side table and curl up in my lap!  I have no idea why he started doing that, but for the first time ever, he was a lap cat for a few minutes each morning.  

Time passed and it was at least 14 years since he overstayed his visit.  He was getting so thin, his skin hung on him, his long hair helped cover up his weight loss.  He was not throwing up anymore, I saw occasional hairballs out in the yard, but it was ages since I found one inside.  Instead, I was sometimes finding little drops of blood.  He started coming in and out the cat door at night.  Each time in, he would loudly announce it…all through the night, meowing, sometimes howling.  It got so bad that John said it we had to do something.  I put a board in front of his cat door at night and fed him a bowl of food as I locked him out.  It did not help.  Instead of coming in and out howling, he would run between the garage and the downstairs door (which just happens to be below my bedroom door)…howling and meowing non stop until I got up and fed him.  

One morning, as unplanned as his arrival, I decided it was time to let him go.  I snuggled him on my little morning porch. Afterwards, as I made calls to find a vet, he caught a bird and released it in the house, one last time.  I loaded him up and took him to the vet.  She agreed it was time.  I remember weighing him in his prime and he was 25 pounds!  That day, he was down to 9 ½ pounds!  All skin and bones, even though I was feeding him two cans of food a day!  He was down to 3 fangs and a couple of molars.  That explains the blood spots I sometimes found.

Tearfully I said goodbye and let him go.  

I drove home and wrapped him in his favorite blanket and buried him under the dogwood tree next to where we spent our mornings.  

I hadn't expected to become attached to him.  But habits grew and now I find myself expecting him to be waiting for me as I go out to my morning porch.  I know I will eventually stop looking for him.  The habits will change.  I have to admit, it is nice to sleep all night without being woke up with him howling for me.  But I never would have suspected that a mere walk down the pet food aisle at the store today would bring me to tears!  

I guess I got more attached than I expected from this accidental pet.  

Happy Hunting, Bazzel!