Poor Boston had ten acres to defend.  Our vet said every cat needs ten acres, and I was relieved that what we had matched her needs.  We had no more money for land.  Ten acres represents a sizable job for one kitty.  Boston, as smart as she was, had been up to the task, but one bad black kitty, male I think, really took a bite out of Boston’s pride (and her neck) , and this was just about the time that Ben presented himself to the two of us.

1-pics from garrett's camera, glenn and lee 198

I’m not sure that Ben ever pulled his share of the load with the acreage.  He was such a home boy, and man, he shot quick like lightening between your legs and into the house when the back door opened.  You could not even see him, and I thought if I ever took one of those “old woman” falls, one that begins the end of one’s life, it would be from Benjamin flying between my legs.

1-ben on wicker

The black cat took a bite out of Ben’s neck too, at least they had that in common for a while.

A narcissist would say that the bites were part of a plan.  A narcissist sees the world only through his own filter.  What about little dead Ben, at the maximum age of four?  How could this short life be part of a plan? A narcissist might think about it and say “Have you ever seen that black cat again?”  I would have to say no, but I don’t want to interpret these events only through my own filter.

A writer the other day said it was very unsettling to read about one’s self in another’s book as a minor character; he and his parents, all three, were writers.  The mean black cat had an agenda, Ben had an agenda, and Boston had an already  established my-ten-acres-and-mine-only agenda.  Perhaps when an event is part of a “plan”, and a person observes this, what he is really commenting about is the importance or not, in YOUR personal little drama.

The over-sensitive must rail against the dawning of this light and say “No, no!  Ben’s short life was meant for much more than stimulating the memory of an old beau!”  You see, Ben looked a lot like Glenn as a twenty-something, and we were yet to meet again.

For all I know, Ben could have established for himself an amazing street reputation, you know, like the Disney Tramp.  Probably not as famous, as he was too young, but he was certainly living large within his orb.  His coming around was only one of many good things he did for me.  See my first post in this narrative.