Brittany Beason

This is not a fairy tale, but let us pretend for a moment.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful black cat. She came to a family at the perfect time, just when the youngest daughter of the family was grieving the loss of a friendship. She filled the young girl's broken heart with joy and became her new best friend. The cat's name was Brittany Beason.

What's in a Name? 

I have already alluded to Brittany Beason at least once, and this probably won't be the last you hear of her. You may be wondering why she has such an oddly specific name. Well, there's a story for that.

As I have mentioned previously (or, as you may have guessed from my habit of lingering on stories about my long-deceased pets), I was a rather dramatic child. Around the age of 4, I attended a daycare center called Sunshine Playhouse (nicknamed "Sunshine Stinkhouse" by my sister, who was not a fan). I had a friend at this daycare center named Brittany Beason. (This was my pre-literacy days, so I'm not totally sure of the spelling here. All I know is that I loved this girl and we were best friends.)

One day on the playground, she told me she was moving. Like, immediately. This would be our last day together. I cried for days. I was sure I would never see her again. (Which is true, by the way, so maybe I had an appropriate reaction. Don't judge me! [Also, Brittany Beason if you're out there and not too scared after reading post this please comment on it! I miss you...])

Anyway, I was devastated. For about two weeks. Until I got a new best friend.

New Best Friend

She was smaller, feistier, hairier (as far as I know), and ended up being a much larger part of my life than her namesake. You guessed it - Brittany Beason! Below is a picture of her on top of our fish tank (the cat, not the preschooler). This very fish tank was responsible for countless deaths, one of which I'll mention later. Right now, we've got bigger fish to fry.

What a beautiful animal.

Brittany Beason was a bad ass cat. She came and went as she pleased. She was the boss of all the neighborhood cats, who liked to congregate under the cars in our driveway in the winter. If we didn't hear her meowing at the door at night to come in, she would wedge herself between the broken screen on my bedroom window and the glass and meow until I opened the window. The first time she did this I was almost scared to death, as she was completely black and I only saw a pair of yellow glowing eyes outside my window. Later, I came to enjoy the ritual as she almost always slept in my bed.

I'm Not Overreacting

At this point, my father has stopped reading this post. Which is for the best, really.

I mean, to my father's credit he probably thought one day I'd grow into a mature adult who would forgive him for getting rid of my BEST FRIEND. But too bad! I've done no such thing and despite his best efforts I'm just not that well-adjusted. I did learn an important lesson, though. Sometimes life isn't fair. Sometimes life is so unfair that your dad develops a "cat allergy" roughly eight years after getting a cat that you have fallen in love with. Go tell your therapist about these things. Or, if you're like me, vent about it in a very public venue. Whatever works.

I do take some comfort from the fact that I'm fairly sure my father would just live with his "cat allergy" if he had to do it over. Because, to the rest of the family's chagrin, I bring up this story at even the slightest mention of the words "cat" or "allergies". My husband has actually told me that he thinks that I have been too hard on my father about it. Can you believe that? I mean, I have now been pissed off about this incident for more than half of my life. I'm not going to just "let it go".

Yes, dear readers, that is the punch line. You may be wondering how this cat died. I don't know! We gave her away to a family that didn't have "cat allergies". Though I'm sure she is dead, as she would be roughly 21 years old at this point. Feeling unsatisfied with this ending? Well, too bad! So am I!

The End.