Monday, April 22, 2002. That was one of the worst days of my life. That was the day I had to put my cat Bebik to sleep. She was suffering from constipation and megacolon (and suspected cancer). She was too old to endure the painful recovery of surgery, and medications were doing no good. I was stuck with the last humane recourse to end her misery.

She was the Queen of my household ever since I got her as a Christmas gift in 1988. Even though I had no desire for a pet at the time, I fell in love with her instantly. I named her “Bebik,” a Ukrainian slang word for “baby.”

We hit it off immediately. She’d sprawl out on the kitchen floor while I did dishes and blinked happily as I serenaded her — very badly — with whatever I was playing on my stereo. She shared my food, watched many movies and TV shows with me, and joined me for every nap. This may explain the amount of weight she gained later on!

She endured moving to three different addresses. She welcomed my wife to our household. She put up with our male cat Loki when he joined the family 3 years ago.

She wasn’t the most social cat around and wasn’t too fond of visitors. She hated the outdoors or going for a drive (especially if it was a trip to the vet!). Although the thought probably crossed her mind — especially for that pesky brother of — she would never bite or scratch anyone.

She was beautiful, quiet, and sweet. She had long black hair and shed, surprisingly, little. Her eyes were green. Although she had all of her claws, she rarely scratched our furniture, preferring to sharpen her nails on her scratching post.

She always had an endearing “grumpy” look on her face. She hated being kissed and showed displeasure by licking her lips and grunting whenever I blew affectionate “raspberries” on her belly, which I called “belly farts”.

She loved having her coat brushed or combed. She demanded the faucet be turned on in the bathtub to drink from the trickle of water. She sang like an opera diva when I squeezed tuna water from the can into a bowl or opened a festive can of Fancy Feast (allowed only on special occasions).

And she would purr. Loudly. It would echo in the bathtub when she got a drink or played with plastic milk rings with me. She also loved to chase and plop on top of moving shadows I made with my index finger on the floor (I affectionately refer to it as shadow monsters).

Now she’s gone and we miss her terribly. Even though Bebik would rather endure my famous “belly farts” than share a moment or two with Loki, he mopes around the house, waiting for her to return home. He loved to attack her whenever I wasn’t looking, but during her last week, he became the perfect gentleman. He even allowed her to sit on his scratching post or eat his food whenever she wanted. Under usual circumstances, this would cause the CCF (Crazy Cats Federation) Smackdown — where I normally intervened and Loki scampered to the nearest safe corner.

Half of her ashes are buried in a garden created especially for her, where bright orange-yellow tulips bloom every early spring and where different colored annuals are planted in May every year.

In it is a commemorative stone I made for her during her last weekend with us. Imbedded in it is a plaque, plus her two front paw prints and a favorite kitty toy — a milk ring. (To see a closeup of it, click on the photo to the left.) If we ever move, I won’t be able to take all her buried ashes, but we’ll always have her paw prints to take with us anywhere.

As well as sweet memories.

Bye, bye, Bebik.

Sleep deeply. Purr loudly.