Basie the Cat

Our mom loved cats. She volunteered at the rescue shelter, and she had 23 cats over the course of her life. All things “cat” delighted Mom: cat books, shirts, pictures, toys. Anne Forster’s last cat was a beautiful rescued calico whom she named Basie.

Basie was a one-person cat. She bonded with Mom. All other people were met with a mad dash for the kitty door. Basie was a rescue and clearly her early life had been frightening. It took years for Basie not to bolt when members of the family came in. After enough time had passed Basie calmed a little but we got the wary eye for sure. Darcy, a longtime family friend, called it a malevolent glare that said I am tolerating you, but barely.

After Pat, my mom’s true love and partner of 30 years, passed, Basie and Mom grew closer than ever. Wherever you would find one, the other was sure to be near. As Mom began the long sad slide into dementia, Basie stayed closer than ever. She became a huge source of comfort and grounding. Mom would get unsettled at a new truck outside, a new worker at the meter, but as soon as she saw Basie, all was well, she calmed down again. Basie was amazingly strong anti-dementia-fear-freak-out medicine — my mom’s best medicine.

I came along in 1960 and saw my mother with somewhere in the neighborhood of 15 cats, all of which she rescued, all of which she loved, but I never saw her love a cat like she loved Basie. Us “kids” (a very strange word for ragged, tired adults in their fifties and sixties) would joke that Basie was far more beloved than we were — and Basie was going to inherit Mom’s house.

I knew Mom had left us the day Basie stopped going into her room. Mom’s body was still there, still breathing — but Basie knew Mom was gone. Mom’s body stopped functioning a few days later. My sisters were there with me at midnight when Mom stopped breathing and they said, “It feels like she’s already gone.”

Basie was terribly lost after Mom left. There was a long sad period where she flitted and dashed about the deserted apartment like a ghost and constantly went to places where she hoped Mom would reappear. Eventually this era passed and Basie became the house cat of the little apartment house where Mom lived and where I had moved to help care for her.

Basie took over the front porch and the front yard. Some of the tenants were cat lovers, some were allergic to cats. There were some difficult episodes with Basie’s fur shedding and Basie’s front-yard litter-box choices, but these gradually settled out, and the whole place came to love Basie.

And Basie became a different cat, still quick to freak and bolt with strangers, but very tolerant of people she knew. She never became a lap cat but she grew to love being petted and would purr like a freight train when she was about to eat and when she was held. She grew to trust me to the point where I could do “the baby” with her, hold her on her back like a baby and walk her around the yard.

We had a night time ritual, every night before bed I would come out and Basie would be waiting. I would hold her in the baby and we’d hang out on the front lawn. She would purr like mad and touch my chest with a gentle paw. When enough time had passed she’d move to get down and then I’d give her a midnight snack.

I tried and tried not to get too attached to Basie — but it was hopeless, no matter how much I grumbled and complained about the Basie duties I inherited and my siblings didn’t, I fell in love, and we became very close. She knew the sound of my car and was always waiting for me. She knew the moments I appeared at the door. She became my little pal. She followed me like she used to follow Mom. She found a very big place in my old tired heart. And she was Mom, as long as Basie was here, Mom was also here. They were so bonded they were the same. If Basie was here, Mom was still here. Taking care of Basie was taking care of Mom.

Basie passed on the autumn equinox full moon. She was not at the door for dinner. I knew something was wrong, went looking, and found her under Mom’s camellia bush. Her back legs were paralyzed. My brother and I took her to the vet, who told us her time was up, there was no returning. And here is the strange and spiritual part. The unexplainable part.

Under the bush Basie was completely calm. Not distressed at all. I took her out and immediately she began her freight train purr. We sat in the autumn sun on the front lawn and I started to weep when she tried to get up and I saw her back legs were useless. But she just purred and purred. In the car ride to the vet she was completely calm. In the vet’s with my brother and Dr. Wayne, she meowed in a way I had never heard before, like she was talking, purred like a furnace and licked my hand — something she had never done with me or my mom. My brother was certain they had given her drugs, but Dr. Wayne said no, she said this sometimes happened with cats, they became incredibly happy and peaceful right before they passed.

We petted her and wept and told her how much we loved her, and then Dr Wayne put her to sleep.

I was beyond wrecked. I still am. My little pal is gone. My brother said I’m just like Dad, I try and try not to love pets and to grumble and make jokes, but can’t help it.

My siblings are gutted as well — good-bye to Basie was also a last good-bye to our mom. In celebration and honor of Basie I can say she had a very joyful, amazing, peaceful passing — she lived a healthy life with a big appetite right up until her last day. She went out purring with joy and peace — and talking to us. I think she was saying she was ready, her job was done, she was ready to go.

Now that she is gone I can see she did an amazing job for our family. She took care of our mother as our mother slid away. She was a comfort and guardian that always brought our mom back to calm and quiet. She was my mom’s animal spirit guardian.

Cats had guarded my mom her whole life, and Basie was the last guard, the one with the toughest job — and she did it well.

Mom rescued Basie, but Basie rescued Mom in return, and all of us, and me.