Wisdom, compassion and patience wrapped in a soft fur coat.

`The world lost a good and worthy soul today.  His name was Zachary Binx.  He was preceded in death by his good friend Bryte and he is survived by the entire Hester Family and more recently his rescuer, Jeannie Musick.  Zachary, more commonly known simply as, 'Binx' was sixteen years and eight months old.  He was our dear and beloved cat.  I found a 'cat years' calculator on line and am told by it that Zachary Binx was roughly 84 years old by human calculations.  He was a venerable old gentleman.

Binx's membership into our family began on Samantha's ninth birthday.  We had just moved to England, and Samantha begged to have a cat when we got settled in.  Binx came from humble beginnings as a simple farm cat. Little did he know, curled up amongst his tiny British litter mates that one day he would travel the world and end up living in Nebraska. 

On her birthday Samantha stood with skinny arms outstretched and eyes closed tightly as commanded as I deposited the tiny, furry bundle into her unsuspecting hands. She was ecstatic.  She immediately declared that she would name him Zachary Binx as an homage to the great Zachary Binx of Hocus Pocus fame.

Zachary Binx had many fine qualities.  Patience would probably top the list.  I know first hand of his infinite patience based on the number of times I found him dressed in a nighty, tucked away into Samantha's wooden cradle or bundled in her arms as she read books to him.  I would pop my head into her room and there he would be, lying on his back with a night cap on.  He would look up at me with pleading eyes that shouted, "Please just shoot me now".  But there he would stay.  You see, he loved Samantha dearly and would do anything for her; even endure great indignities so long as it entertained her.

Binx was also a great provider.  As mentioned, he loved Samantha completely, but realized early on that she wasn't much of a hunter, so out of concern for her well being (and much to Samantha's great dismay), he would go out most every day and hunt, not for himself, but for her.  After a successful hunt, he would proudly deposit a freshly killed dinner at Samantha's feet.  She was not amused.  However, she had read a book explaining that cats only do this when they really love their humans and so she endured his frequent gifts of mice, baby rabbits, and the occasional hedgehog. 

Restraint was another of Binx's many strengths.  In 16 1/2 years, I never heard Binx hiss, I never saw him bite (a human...he bit plenty of other critters), and the only time he ever scratched anyone (intentionally at least) was when Samantha convinced Chi that Binx, just like the rest of us, needed to be baptized.  I think that under the circumstances, the laceration that marked Chi's stomach for years to come, was completely justified, most especially since we believe in baptism by full immersion.

Binx was also a great friend.  Our neighbors had a cat too.  His name was Jasper and they were best buddies.  Each afternoon, Jasper would come to the lounge door and paw gently at the glass.  When I slid the door open, he would sit very nicely on the stoop and say, most politely, "Is Zachary Binx about? I thought we could go out and have a romp in the lilac bushes."  I would then ask him to wait while I summoned Binx and he would curl up patiently on the concrete.  I would run off to find Binx where ever he was, (most often trapped in Samantha's doll stroller) and ask him if he would like to run off for a bit with Jasper, to which he would reply, "Why that would be lovely, thank you".  Binx would follow me back to the lounge where he would welcome Jasper heartily and as they headed across the back garden, Jasper would shout over his shoulder, "I'll have him back by two" and off they would go.  Upon their return, Jasper would thank me for allowing Binx to have an outting with him and state that he would be back at the same time the next day.  This was a routine that they followed for many months.

Binx was also a warrior. He got into frequent scrapes with some of the local feline crowd, but one night he came home quite late looking much the worse for wear. By morning his face had swollen horribly and he was looking quite ill. I took one look at him and bundled him into the car and whisked him off to the vet. I told her that I thought he'd been in a cat fight, but after examining his wounds she informed me that he had not been in a cat fight and that by rights, he should be dead. As it turns out, he had ticked off the wrong rat, specifically, a Norwegian Wharf rat, also known as a brown rat. On average, they are about a foot long and apparently kill cats for entertainment. She was amazed that Binx had come out of it, beat up, but alive. I think he pretty much steared clear of anything larger than a field mouse after that incident.


Surprisingly, empathy was one of Binx's greatest strengths.  This tough little country cat, had such compassion for others.  Our English Setter, Bryte, became terribly ill, and developed an absess on her side after drinking water from a stream near a chemical plant.  As Bryte lay on her bed, ill and in pain, Binx would lay beside her, curling up with her and licking her wound frequently to help heal it.

I'll be honest, the original plan did not actually involve taking Binx back to America with us when we moved back.  The idea was to find him a loving home right before we left.

Then he did an amazing thing.  When Samantha was twelve, she contracted Meningitis.  She was terribly ill and battling the infection left her too weak to even walk for weeks after she was out of the woods.  When she was home and ensconsed on our living room couch, he would not leave her side. Twice a day, day in and day out, he would excuse himself to use the litter box and eat and then right back to Samantha's side he would go.  Sometimes he would curl up nuzzled into her neck, other times at her feet and sometimes pressed against her side, but never more than a few inches from her.  He would talk to her and tell her that she would be well soon.  He would recount tales of his adventures with Jasper.  Go ahead, try and convince me that cats don't talk.  I won't believe you.  He comforted my very sick daughter.  He made her feel better.  We bought him a plane ticket to Nebraska.

There are so many more stories.  Dozens of them, because inside an average sized cat, dwelt and huge heart and an above average soul, but I think you get the idea.  Time passed, Samantha went off to college and then got married.  He stayed with us. He lived a long and healthy life up until about a year ago, then time began to take it's toll. He started losing his eyesight and developed arthritis, much like me. Our house became difficult and daunting for him.  It turned into 3,000 sq ft of stairs and hallways and rooms and in spite of putting litter boxes on every floor, he had issues with finding them.  I work from home and clients aren't really fond of the smell of cat pee soaked carpets and we had to start casting about for options.  My sweet and huge hearted sister stepped in and offered to take him to live in her apartment on a trial basis.  Never once in eight months did he pee on her carpets.  The vet said our house was just too intimidating for him and that he was more comfortable in a smaller, more confined space.  He and Jeannie quickly became the best of friends. I am so grateful to her for rescuing him and giving him eight months of unqualified love. 

In the past couple of weeks he deteriorated rapidly.  A mass was found. He quit eating.  Pancreatic cancer was suggested. Today, we decided to show empathy to a soul who had shown so much to others and we let him go. 

There is a big hole now where he once was, but as Samantha said when I called to tell her, Bryte will be there waiting for him and what stories they will have to share.

Thank you Binx, for sixteen years of you.