Saying goodbye

Here at the Sentinel, we have experienced the loss of a dear, sweet friend. Our big yellow cat became very sick with bladder cancer, and the humane thing of putting him to sleep was the only choice.

It hurts like crazy to part with a pet. Just about everyone knows the feeling.

Beauregard, who was simply Beau, (“Bo”) was a member of our family here. And he took full advantage of his position in the family: it was always about him. Any time someone would come into the store, Beau would be right there on the counter: welcoming (“you came here to see me, right?”), claiming his space (“it’s all mine”), and demanding attention (“it’s all about me, right?”).

Beau was the welcoming committee, all in his own way. He took care of our public relations, single paw-edly. He was the silent type, but he had his own way of getting what he wanted.

You think you’re on a deadline to get that story done? Not until you stop and pet me.

Don’t think you have time to stop and pet me? I’ll fix that... I will just lay across your hands. Even if your hands are on your keyboard.

Now you’re upset with me for erasing text from what you’re working on? I tried to tell you... I need some attention. Now. But don’t worry; I’ll move soon. Actually, whenever I’m ready to move, then I will move. And not a twitch of a whisker sooner.

Beau was discovered as a kitten at a pet shop in Great Bend. Tatum, probably about 8 years old at the time, was competing in a gymnastics competition. Bart and Donna had not planned on bringing home a kitten that day. They were just wasting a little time in between events when Tatum and Haven make a run to the pet shop. And as the saying goes, “the rest is history.”

Every parent knows how this kind of thing happens. The kids go into a pet shop, just to pass the time. The kids see this sweet little yellow kitten, needing a home and a family. The kids ask if they can hold the kitten, and every parent says you can hold it just for a little while; but we are not taking it home. The kids fight over getting to hold the kitten; mom says you have to take turns. The kids take turns holding the kitten. The kids beg mom for the kitten; mom says no; I told you... we are not taking it home. The kids ask dad sweetly if they can take the kitten home; dad says sure, okay, make sure you get everything it needs; and hurry, we need to get going.

I don’t know if this is the way it went down, but I can just hear it; can’t you? In fact, I’ve been there, done that, bought the hamster.

Beau started out at Bart and Donna’s house, but as they were remodeling their home at the time, and everything was torn up, Beau kept getting into places where he just shouldn’t go. So he was moved here, to the office, where he got a lot more attention, but continued getting into places where he just shouldn’t go. It didn’t matter; he had full run of the place, and he took full advantage of that. We have plenty of pictures of him to prove some of the crazy places he would get to... “just because I can.”

Not all cats have a personality, but Beau’s was as grand as his extra fluffy tail. As a long-haired cat, his furr always got matted, no matter how often we brushed it. When it got so matted that he looked uncomfortable, it was Bridget to the rescue: Beau would have an appointment the next time the Groomingdales van came to town. We don’t know how she did it, but Bridget would always give Beau such a close shave, cutting off all the matted fur. She always left a poof on the end of his tail, which Beau proudly waved. She also left him with fluffy socks, leaving the bottom two inches or so of each leg unclipped. When Bridget had worked her magic, she would bring him back in to the office, and, oh my, could he strutt his stuff and gently wave that bobbed tail. He was so handsome. And skinny, with no hair.

I’ve seen a little sign that Beau would have agreed with: “Dogs have owners, cats have staff.” That was how Beau lived his life. He was in charge, and if anyone ever doubted it, well, just see if he would move out of your chair, which was really his chair anyway. That’s just how his “catitude” worked!

We all miss you, Beau-Beau. Thanks for the love and kisses. Thanks for being a lap warmer no matter what the season. Our hearts are broken; and the chairs and desks and counters and mostly, our laps, are noticeably empty.