All things bright and beautiful,
all creatures great and small,
all things wise and wonderful:
the Lord God made them all.

BC (also known as Beez or Beezers) was around 8 years old when he arrived at our house. He was only to stay for a few weeks while he recovered from an injury to his eye, then he was to return to the Academy where he was the testing office mascot. Ah yes, that was 11 years ago and BC had other ideas about where his home would be, and so he worked his way into our hearts and our lives and settled in with us.

On Sunday, June 11, 2006 BC crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. We were there with him, petting him and talking softly. Our vet talked gentle to him, kissed him on the head and gave him the injection. Then the 3 of us hugged and cried. Dr. B. recited the Refrain from the hymn, All Things Bright and Beautiful (by Cecil Frances Alexander) while he hugged us. We gave BC one last pet and Dr. B. took him away. Later this week we will scatter his ashes.

BC was an interesting cat. He was part Burmese, which showed in the bump he had on his nose. His coat was black, rich, thick and silky soft. He weighed in at 25 lbs when he was young, and I often joked that from the back when he sat down he looked like a turkey--which was doubly funny because he loved poultry. The first time I baked chicken around him, he sat in the kitchen doorway and drooled (actually foamed and slobbered) the entire time it baked. He would occasionally lick his chops and adjust his stance, but he never moved out of the doorway. When supper was served, he sat at our feet hoping for a bite -- and one always managed to find its way to him.

BC adjusted to the other cats in our home, although he never adjusted to our dog, Buckles. If Buckles got too close, BC always hissed and growled. Buckles wisely walked away. BC became best buds with Joey the brat cat. They would chase each other up and down the hallway, around corners, over furniture until one caught the other. Then it was wrestling time. We'd leave them be unless fur started flying. After they were worn out, they'd curl up together and sleep.

Over time, BC developed arthritis in his hip. We think he might have been hit by a car when he was younger, as he always favored his rear right leg, and eventually he became slower and jumped less. He was big on using a little step stool to reach the ottoman or the couch, where he'd curl up and sleep, dream and snore. If there was sun coming in the window, he'd climb down and lay in the rays as they hit the carpet.

BC was always Mac's cat, and the 2 of them often napped together--Mac stretched out in his recliner and BC curled up with Mac's right arm wrapped around him for warmth. When he first arrived at our house, he didn't care much for me. He'd let me tend to his sore eye, and give him his meds, but I wasn't allowed to pet him. Trying to do so earned me a nice bite on my hand or arm. When we brought him in the house, he ignored me for the most part. If I tried to touch him, he would growl and bite at me. I soon learned to keep my distance. He was, after all, 25 lbs. of cat. Then one night he climbed up in my lap and looked me in the eye. He stretched out toward my face. I sat there shaking and thinking he was going for the juggler, when suddenly, SLURP, I was gifted with a big ol' wet kiss on my nose. BC then turned around a few times and went to sleep in my lap. I slept in the chair with him that night, as I was too afraid to move him. From then on, BC and I were buds. I guess it was a matter of becoming friends on his terms.

In October when we moved to Oregon, BC was the trooper. He sat in the travel cage for 14 hours, watching us, giving us his opinion on travel a few times, but mostly just being quiet and still. This picture shows you BC and his buddy, Abby, curled up together on the couch at the rental house.

We sure are going to miss him around here. His ottoman looks mighty empty without him stretched across it, and it won't be the same getting up in the morning and not having him follow me over to the coffee pot where he'd beg for another can to be opened. Any can, didn't matter, because he really wasn't hungry -- it was just a matter of being friends on his terms.

Farewell, BC. I hope you find loads of roasted chickens, and romp with Joey -- and maybe, just maybe, you'll play nice with Buckles.