Remembering Ben

The Mills & Boon evening at Brooks will have to wait because there is more important business today. There is Ben.

Ben Jonson has been my friend for a lot of years. I first met him when he was a spry yet solid and definitely opinionated feline of six years. He was living with Sophie Weston and enriching her life in much the same way Sid enriches Kate Walker's and as the best of cats do for the humans privileged to share space with them. He was very kind and welcoming during my first visit. He invited me into his conservatory, and he allowed me to bask in the sunlight there and in his back garden.

He made me feel right at home. He even sat on my manuscript the same way he always sat on Sophie's -- the theory being, I suppose, that if he sat on them, they warmed more quickly, hatched faster, left the house sooner as completed books, and thus allowed the writer more time to give Ben exquisite head rubs and ear scratches. Sid notwithstanding, Ben was a true connoisseur of head rubs and ear scratches. He definitely improved the quality of life around Sophie's house (not that it wasn't already wonderful).

Ben was there waiting for me on the stairs when I went to Sophie's from Kate's two weeks ago. At 16 years plus, he was something of a shadow of his former self. And yet he was always a gentleman, always happy to see you (unless you were Sophie trying to stuff a pill down his throat).

He'd been struggling through a variety of illnesses these last few months. His housemate and chasing-around-the-house pal, Sandy, had died in the spring and Ben wasn't up to much chasing himself. But he was still very much A Presence in Sophie's house.

Earlier this year when we were planning my visit, Sophie and I had decided to head down to Cornwall for a week and leave Ben to the tender care of a Gentleman Companion whom Sophie had intended to import to keep him company. But right before I arrived Ben got ill. Very ill. And Sophie knew she couldn't leave him to anyone else's care. He was, after all, Her Cat -- and she was His Person.

So she stayed home on Cat Care Duty (though it really was no duty at all, but only what a friend would do for a dear dear friend). I went to Cornwall by myself because I had work to do down there, and Ben did not need two people hovering over him.

Periodically I checked in on Ben while I was gone. He had good days and bad days, but mostly he had days with Sophie -- and that was what was important.

Against all odds, when I came back at the end of the week, Ben was there to greet me. And he was as delighted to see me as I was to see him. He was particularly pleased that I didn't come bringing pills. I brought him Rodda's Cornish Clotted Cream which I'm sure is not on any cat's dietary regimen, but Ben loved the tiny spoonfuls he got of it. (Someone should consider putting cat medicine in Cornish cream.) And I gave him head rubs and ear scratches and brushed him while he purred. And he rewarded me with his presence and the joy of seeing him again. He even got up at 4 a.m. to see me off the morning I left. Always, to the end, a gentleman.

This afternoon he left, too, leaving us all sadder but heartened by having known and loved him. Rest in peace, dear Ben. May you have an eternity filled with head rubs, ear scratches -- and every now and then just a bit of Rodda's Cornish Clotted Cream.