A place for photos of Benson, the Blitten, as he grows.
We say “he found us”, when people ask where we got him.
One night late summer of 2011, while a group of friends were sitting on the back porch, we heard a distant meowing.
Over the next couple of hours, the meowing grew louder and louder, until finally we knew there was a cat very close by.
A flashlight shinning down the driveway shown on a tiny little black kitten.
I said he could stay, “just for the night.”
The next day I left on a trip to Gettysburg for a long weekend trip.
Nicholas stayed at the [then mine, now our] apartment with the little guy.
I debated Presidential names. Carter, and Lincoln, and Jefferson, and John.
I thought we had decided on Clinton.
But Clinton just didn’t fit.
Back to the name drawing board it was!
Somewhere along the way, probably while listening to a favorite podcast, we came up with the idea to name him Benson.
And Benson fit.
And Benson stuck.
And Benson was his name-o.
Benson’s best blend is Cody.
They’ve never met in real life, but they are tight on the internet.
The vet says when we found him he was probably about 2 1/2 months old.
I have decided this means that Benson’s birthday is June 28th. [I get to decide because I am the Chief Celebrator in our family, you see.]
Sometimes I think that Benson think’s he is a human. He is always trying to do human things that he sees Nick and I doing, too. Like eating gummy bears. And typing on the computer. And giving high fives like ain’t no thing.
Have you seen the Geico commercial with the rescue panther? Sometimes I think Benson is our very own version of a rescue panther. His eyes look all scary like that big cat, sometimes. He’s a hunter, through and through. And often times I am awoken by a kitten paw swat to the face or a pounce to my feet, attacking my toes.
Benson likes cheese. And scrambled eggs. And [finally! it took him a while to grow into it...] catnip.
He likes to chase milk tabs, and bottle caps, and these plastic rings that came with some build-it-yourself metal storage shelves to separate each shelf, and carry them all around in his mouth.
Benson likes to sit on the back porch and squirrel watch. His best bird gazing is done from the front porch.
Benson looks like he’s got all black fur, but he has some dark brown stripes and every few inches a tiny patch of 3-4 white hairs pop out.
Benson doesn’t like to be pet, but he’s down for a good ear rub, and he especially like it if you scratch under his chin.
He likes to chew on straws and drink from mugs, both of which I often leave on the kitchen table for his pleasure.
Benson is my favorite, but Nicholas is Benson’s favorite. Without a doubt.