Bye Bye Benicio

How lucky I am that I keep kitten milk on-hand. It doesn't matter how many decades pass without using it, for that one night when a half-dead kitten shows up long after pet stores have closed.

Much like that random night in May when Benicio crawled up from the creek. At first, I thought the sound was a baby.  Then we spotted him under the bushes.  He was so malnourished that his head and body were the same size. His whole face was crusted over with conjunctivitis and his bony body was covered in fleas. I gave him a light cleaning and a brief, frantic meal, and put him to bed in a box on a heating pad.  When his cries woke me up at 5am, I was completely surprised that he was still alive.

 

I remember the first time we realized that he had sight behind his ulcerated eyes.  I remember when his bowlegged back legs started to work and he went from dragging them around to a funny, little gallop.

 

15 years is three times longer than a feral usually lives. Despite a heart murmur, chronic herpes, the darkness that crept in at the back of his eyes, and a serious distaste for the dogs, he was my wild baby.  How he begged for pets from up in a tree or the roof of the house with a non-existent squeak. How he barely made a sound and only wanted attention from a few of us, until after Blink died. 

I remember the time that he drooled up my nose, cuz he fell asleep against my face.  He used to shove his nose in my hand and drool into it while I pet his face. It was a lifetime of cleaning him up before giving him love, and a life worthy of it. I imagine he made his way back to the creek that he came from. 

Benicio. Nisho. Bad Nisho. Nichi.