Benji was the spitting image of Max, right down to the adorably rotten personality. I truly believed that he was the reincarnation of Max and it was difficult to leave him behind when I moved in with a friend’s sister after separating from my husband. My husband and I had just grown apart; I guess I should say that I grew apart. I just wasn’t happy and after 17 years of trying to figure out ways to make things better and countless nights of crying myself to sleep, I came to the realization that people don’t always grow together and you certainly cannot make someone grow along with you in the same direction. In the beginning I wasn’t sure if I wanted a divorce, perhaps I just needed some time away to think. I went “home” on the weekends to visit my cats and talk things out with my husband. It was about three weeks in and during one of our many discussions that it became very clear it was time for me to move on. My visits “home” became fewer and farer between as I figured out what the next chapter of my life was going to look like. I got a job as a an inventory auditor, it sounded SO much more fancy than it was; basically we went into grocery stores at 5:30am and took stock of every single item on the shelves by visually counting the items and punching the numbers into a machine that hung from our hips. It was a monotonous job and certainly didn’t pay well, but I have fond memories and it prepared me for a very different life ahead. My husband agreed to a divorce, it was fairly quick and painless, and about 3 months later I decided to move in with a friend who lived in NY. I had every intention of bringing Benji with me, my other cat Sophie (the cat who would fetch) had gone to live with my mom in WV. About a week before my big move I got a call from my ex-husband, he was sobbing and I could barely understand a word that he was trying to speak. There was an accident, Benji was... gone. Oh my poor boy, why did this have to happen right before you were coming with me to start a new life! I was distraught but held onto a little piece of hope that perhaps he would come back to me a third time.
My mom with Sophie, the cat who would fetch toy mice.