Origins of the Kracker Cats: Boxcar Bean - Part 4 of 4: Treasured baseball bat becomes an inadvertent exchange for Angel

Just as soon as Sunflower and I could fabricate an excuse, we scurried out of the house, jumped into the car and sped off to Anchorage to pay a visit to Angel - but Angel was no longer little Miss Angel. She was now Mr. Boxcar Bean. 

Having a desire to be the most responsible cat keepers possible, Fire and Stephanie had promptly taken Miss Angel to the vet to get her shots and to see about getting her spayed. They were shocked when the vet told them that "she," little Miss Angel, was actually a "he." So they changed his name to Boxcar Bean.

I am not certain this was necessary. Who says Angel can't be a he? What about the Angel Gabriel? Nothing feminine about him!

Yet, I do like the name, Boxcar Bean.

How would anyone ever think of such a name? Fire has always been like that - thinking things that no one else would think; doing things that no one else would do. Stephanie is equally unique.

BTW: that's Boxcar in the photo above, peeking out from between Sunflower's ankles.

Boxcar Bean studies me with the glint of recognition, maybe.

Boxcar Bean.

Stephanie with Boxcar Bean. He was doing very good, she said, except that he tended to drag little bits of poop that got stuck to his paws in the litter box out with him and these could wind up anywhere, even in the Cheerio's.

After that, nobody wanted to eat their Cheerio's!

While we were there, Nabysko also dropped by to visit Mr. Boxcar Bean. She offered him a "high pet." He took it.

Thirteen months later, at the garage sale:

Readers who have been with me since then will recall that Sunflower, Toast Ed and Prickly Pear Blossom staged a yard sale July 20, and we got a big scare when Jimmy took advantage of the chaos, snuck out of the house and disappeared for awhile.

Again, with virtually no help from me due to my injury and surgery, they continued the yard sale through the 21st. About mid-afternoon, Danny and Becky - the very same Danny and Becky who had transferred Angel/Boxcar Bean to us thirteen months - earlier showed up to see what they might find.

During the many walks that I have taken during that 13 months, I have often come across the two and we usually stop to chat. Becky never fails to ask about "Angel" - who she still calls, "my sweet little baby." Always, there is great love longing in her voice and I can still feel the pain in her from having taken this action that has brought such joy to we, the Kracker family.

When I learned that the two had showed up for the sale, I stepped out. As I did, Becky picked up a little purse adorned by the image of a kitten that bore a certain resemblance to the Angel that Becky remembered. "How much for this?" she asked me.

"For you, Becky, nothing, nothing at all."

Fire's treasured little bat: 

Becky and Danny stayed to browze and were soon joined by their mother. Not long afterward, I was surprised to see this bat in Becky's hands and to hear her ask, "how much for this?"

"Oh no!" I thought to myself, remembering those recent days so long ago when Fire could not be separated from that bat. "There has been a mistake. Fire would never have agreed to put that bat up for sale. No! Nor would I. I can't let that bat go." Fire was a Little Leaguer and a baseball fanatic when he insisted that we buy that bat, a Little League 50th Anniversary commemoration piece.

For months, maybe years, Fire had carried that bat around and it always brought the most happy, contented, look to his face. Once, the bigger, stronger, Toast Ed pretended to take the bat away from him. Fire responded with vehement rage and he took back the bat. 

"Why do you want that bat, anyway?" Becky's mom asked with a frown, even as my mind sought the words to explain to Becky why I could not let the bat be sold.

"I want to get it for Dad," Becky answered. 

A look of sadness now came over her mom. "Your dad's dead," she said.

"I know he is," Becky answered. "But I will put it with the rest of his bats. It will be part of his collection." She then turned her face back to mine.

"How much, Grahamn?" she asked.

"For you, no charge. No charge at all. You take that bat to your dad now."

Fire, I am so sorry! What else could I do?

You've got Becky's "sweet little baby," Becky's got your Little League 50th Anniversary commemoration  bat. I do not know how it is that life could possibly pull such a trick, but this is just the kind of trick life pulls.

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