Mr. B

I'm having a very reflective week as many of you know.

Seriously, the I LOVE YOU, MAN! emails I sent to almost all of my friends and family members were NOT a result of some afternoon drinking binge, rather a knee jerk reaction to an emotional day that truly caught me off guard. I thought, " it's a funeral for someone I don't even know... I'll show up in support for my friend and get on with my day - never mind the chapel was so mobbed I didn't even get a chance to give her my condolences."

Whoa... hold on, not so fast. I stepped into the chapel and like a ton of bricks, emotions hit me I hadn't felt in years. I listened to my friend's speech.... truly a brave endeavor given it had been her decision to ask for a divorce just a year ago and most of the funeral attendees were his family members, who were certainly not shy about expressing their disapproval regarding the divorce. I admire her honest and touching memorial of a man who was clearly the love of her life. People evolve... it's life and it makes me sad that his family could not find a way in their hearts to accept the decisions that were made in the past.

But, I digress.

Beethoven (AKA Mr. B) is the topic for today. Another friend of mine lost her cat to cancer (what a week!) and I realized that my days with Beethoven are numbered. So, I felt like I should write a little something on behalf of my partially senile cat, who I love like a family member.

This cat has been with me through thick and thin... literally. I got the little man when I was in college, just 20 years old, I felt like such a mature adult. I shared an apartment with my boyfriend at the time. He wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, thus he named Beethoven, after Beethoven the dog, yeah, that's right, the big St. Bernard in that popular movie from the early 90's. I'm still scratching my head.

Beethoven has been through it all. A shy kitten, he was traumatized early on. Boyfriend and I went on a mini-vacation and left my friend Seema and her group of boypals to babysit. Years later I learned that in a drunken stupor, they had duct taped baby B to a swivel chair, twirled him 'round and 'round and watched as he dizzily tried to run away. How messed up is that? As I write this, I find myself getting mad. But as Seema is a childhood friend, we forgive and forget.

No wonder poor Beethoven always ran and hid whenever someone came over to visit.

Beethoven lived with me in Davis, my tiny studio in Sacramento, my even tinier closet size "studio" in San Francisco.... then life got good: after Pete and I moved in together, he lived in a palatial 2 bedroom apartment in Tiburon, and now heaven: our house in Alamo with the big backyard. Sometimes I find him rolling around in the grass like the king that he is.

Life changed suddenly for Beethoven about 2 1/2 years ago. Lucy the precocious, hyperactive, fast-moving, sharp-as-a-tack Boston Terrior arrived. Oh, it was an adjustment. Luckily Beethoven still has his claws intact and little Lucy learned at an early age NOT to mess with Mr. B.

At 17 years old, and with little Lucy demanding as much attention as she does - oh, and she's too cute not to warrant it - Beethoven often times is forgotten, an afterthought. Except when Beethoven is hungry. Then EVERYBODY knows it. He's relentless, "Meow, Meow, Meow (rubs up to leg), Meow, Meow (rubs up to leg)". He knows what needs to be done to get what he wants. There is no way some punk dog is going to get in the way of mealtime, oh no, siree!

I've started taking more pictures of Beethoven. I will try to post some on my blog. I can't bear to think about the day when Beethoven is no longer in our lives but I do know this cat has lived a great life, I'm sure he has used most of his 9....