In Memory of a Dear Friend (3)

                                                                 Chapter Three

I fed her when I got off work, usually around 10:30 pm. I hadn't come up with a name, so I called her LBK, short for Little Black Kitty. Her favorite choice of food was "Fanci Feast," the tuna version. I noticed this because she gobbled up her food in half the time of other flavors.  

After each meal, she'd dart around the room, jump in the air at any unexpected noise, and resume running frantically. She'd stop, casually walk over to a folded blanket on the floor next to my bed, sit down in Egyptian pyramid style posture, and gaze at me. Two minutes later she resumed scampering.

My after-work routine included pouring a six ounce glass of Chardonnay along with a late night snack of nachos. About half-way through, I'd refill my glass of wine, sometimes taking a sip or two directly from the bottle, sprinkle a little more cheese and jalapenos over the chips, and go to my computer.

I liked doing research on flower bed ideas, lawn manicures, and home remodeling. I'd usually get sleepy around two am while LBK explored various rooms throughout the home. But let me get back to the wine and nachos.

Nachos for me consisted of warming up some left-over fried hamburger, shredded pepper jack cheese, and bean dip, which I spread over the top. I put the dish in the microwave for a few minutes and afterwards topped it off with salsa, sour cream, and a sliced, fresh, whole jalapenos.

While I made nachos, I'd open a can of Fanci Feast, add a little dry food, and put it in the little, black kitty's bowl on the floor, then carry my nachos along with a glass of wine over to my desk. I usually turned on TV and caught up with the news.

If I was having a rough week, I would increase my wine intake from two glasses with a few additional swigs. This was particularly true on a Friday night, knowing I wouldn't have to work (usually) the next day. At this time of my life, I'd convinced myself wine was the perfect remedy to kill emotional pain.

One night, while eating nachos and sipping a more than usual amount of wine, I noticed an odd taste from a few chips I'd dipped in the bean dip. It was cold and bland. In fact, it tasted nasty. I looked at the bean dip and shouted, "OMG! It's Fanci Feast!"

I looked at her and realized I'd mistakenly given her bean dip instead of Fanci Feast while she sat elegantly, licking her paws, looking serene. It was at that moment I officially named her, "Bean Dip," and our friendship lasted over fourteen years.

Bean Dip passed away in 2018.