Remembering Jack Benny

Jack Benny with Tux and Licorice

Jack Benny was one of the first cats I met at Feline Rescue, and he was the last cat that remained at the shelter from when I first started a year and a half ago. Last Friday, Jack Benny passed away. Jack was always one of the first to say hello to anyone who entered the shelter, and it was impossible to sign in without first giving him the proper attention he desired. A noticeably old cat, Jack Benny would amble around the shelter, slowly wandering from room to room to sniff everything and say hello to everyone.
On my first day I was told that Jack would likely live out the rest of his days in the shelter. I refused to believe it. Sure, he was an old cat, but there were people that liked old cats! And he was so nice! And when he would start purring his muzzle would puff up, giving him a young, playful look.
But Jack Benny sprayed, and would urinate outside of his box—two things that (on top of his age) were making him impossible to adopt.
Still, I held out hope. Every time I'd go months without seeing him spray I'd get excited for him, believing that he no longer had this habit. But besides only seeing him for two of the 168 hours in a week, every so often I'd see him spray, and the mental adoption clock I had going on in my head would be reset.
Still, every time he'd tiptoe up to me I would coo over him and tell him how handsome he was. In the end, his stomach filled with fluids and he stopped eating. Staff at Feline Rescue made the decision to let him go.
Although Jack Benny spent most of his life at Feline Rescue, and was never able to live out the rest of his days in a loving home, I like to think he never really minded. He had volunteers and visitors giving him attention and feeding him no less than four hours every day. He had the freedom to roam during this time, and never had to be caged. He could sit on the sign-in sheet, puff up his muzzle, and get just as much—if not more—love than any other cat lucky enough to have found their forever home.