Nine cat lives (part 9) A random chosen black male

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Maybe you had expected you already had been finished with that endless cat series, but the story of the Beeb is still waiting. The Beeb is simply an abbreviation for the Baby. In Dutch Beeb sounds like Babe. Usually our cat names come in a naturally way. Human names should be too.
For example; I would never have called myself Patricia! The name Patricia generates towering expectations. Far too posh too. Prudence and Priscilla are names of the same level. That would have been nice if I had become triplets; Patricia, Prudence and Priscilla. But Prudence and Priscilla were not willing to do the ovulation-game with me that specific month half a century ago. They also did not understand that - in the vulnerable position we were in those days - you have to grab as much as you can, in terms of opportunities. "Because (I've tried to explain it to them eggheads) if it is me winning this time, it can take at least 9 months before you get your chance again!"
But my motivation for a cooperation simply didn't get processed in their stupid 1cel brains. They were only interested in comparing each other's chromosomes.
I take it back: In retrospect Prudence and Priscilla were actually not of my level.
And makes me this a Patricia?

But, back to the Beeb ... (why does the subject always changing to my person?)
The Beeb was a straight replacement for Ant. You know, the lascivious black dancer of 20 posts ago, who had died in a car accident. I just wanted a new black man. And this time one that I could raise completely myself.

At our local vet I read a note at the window. To pick up: 6 black males. From a farm nearby. We called and went to see them right away.
Boy, they were smallllllllllll. They had not even learned how to move smoothly. The same weird robotical movements as a child doing his first steps. With tails as big as my little finger. We chose one specific one, that was totally not different from the other 5. But the owner said he would reserve him. No clue if we exactly got the designated black baby, but what does it matter? It's about the idea. Probably the same happens all the time in maternity wards for human babies.
We were only allowed to pick him up after 2 weeks, because he clearly was not ready for adoption.

The Beeb grew up prosperously. Until something more suitable would appear, we kept calling him that way. Maybe that was our mistake. Perhaps we have prevented him from becoming an individual, by failing to give him a proper name. Maybe in this way he stayed too much 'the Replacement of'. And perhaps the latter has caused him to face the same fate ... (you see, I'm trying to carry guilt).

When he was almost 1 year old and had become a nice chubby teenager, he went to see girls. We should soon make an appointment at the vet for his neutering.
One night I was woken up by a slamming car door. That was weird, because we lived along a main road. There was no reason to stop a car so close to our house. I fell asleep again.
The Beeb did not come for breakfast the next morning.
We went to work and returned in the evening.
Still no Beeb.

After an awake night in which, apart from the cat flap, we had left all the doors open and had put food bowls everywhere, we hung up notes in the neighbourhood on the other side of the road. The same road that became fatal for Ant. Immediately when we came back home the phone was ringing.
Yes, the caller had seen that cat yesterday morning when she brought the children to school. It was laying along the road. "A young, chubby, black cat, yes."
"And yes, he was really dead, no doubt."

If we had neutered him earlier, he maybe never had crossed the road to the girls ...
Langste kat bloot.jpg
Btw; in this picture he was playing dead, but fully alive.