It has been a very difficult time for us this week as we had to say goodbye to our beloved cat, Lucy.

Lucy came into our lives nearly 18 years ago. We weren’t planning on getting another cat, well, in fact we were planning on definitely not getting another cat. But then we met Lucy on a visit to Mr. Q’s aunt & uncle’s house. Apparently someone had dropped her off out in the country to fend for herself (why do people do that?). Aunt Judy was feeding her, but they didn’t want to take her in.
Lucy was special though. For one thing, she was very pretty.

Her fur was as soft as rabbit fur.
And that face! She was so adorable!

But more than that, she was the friendliest thing. Immediately upon seeing us, she came up to us and reached out to be picked up. Once in Mr. Q’s arms, she nuzzled his ear and started to work her charms.
We tried to remain resolute. We went home without her. Because we didn’t want another cat.
But all night we were thinking about what a sweetheart she was, and maybe it would be OK to have just one more cat in our lives.
We went back for her the next day. Who would have thought that she would then be in our lives for 18 years?
Lucy was special. I know everyone probably says that about their pets, but she really was.
She loved to be held and was such a snuggler.

She was never happier than when she was riding around on Mr. Q’s shoulders.

When we went to bed at night she would impatiently wait for me to put my book down, and then she would insist that I make room for her on my pillow. If I didn’t comply, she would literally try to get comfortable on my head. No matter how many times I tried to move her off my pillow, I would always wake up to a crick in my neck and Lucy comfortably ensconced on the pillow.
Handyman Ken always said she was more like a dog rather than a cat. She would run up to greet him when he came out into the back yard, wanting to be picked up and petted. He always took such good care of her when we were traveling.
I haven’t shared too much about Lucy here on the blog, just the occasional photo bomb.

She always had to check out just what it was that I was focusing on so intently.

And she had to thoroughly inspect any piece of furniture that I brought home to makeover.

And then there was the post where I was explaining that the chaise lounge on my porch was really just a glorified cat bed.

I’ve never been one of those ‘oh look at these 500 photos of my cat, isn’t she awesome?’ sort of people. But I hope you’ll forgive me today for sharing the handful of photos that I do have of Lucy. The fact that I didn’t take a million photos of her is in no way an indication of how much I loved her. Both Mr. Q and I loved her tremendously.
Sadly, as we all know, cats don’t live forever. In fact, having Lucy for 18 years was far more than we ever could have reasonably expected.
Her health had been inexorably declining over the last several years, but up until recently we felt that she still had a good quality of life even though she had clearly slowed down quite a bit. She had more good days than bad days. She was still demanding to go outside on a daily basis, although she had started to turn around and say ‘no f’n way’ when we opened the door and she realized the temp was below zero. And she was still stealing my pillow.
But about a week ago she stopped coming into our room at night. I could no longer entice her to eat, even though I tried every treat designed for finicky cats on the market. It also became clear that she was suffering. She would struggle to stand up, and to lie down. Her fur had gotten incredibly matted over this past winter, and she was nothing more than skin and bones. It was becoming obvious that we could no longer hope that she would just pass painlessly in her sleep.
So we made the impossible decision to have her euthanized. Although I don’t necessarily want to talk about it, I do want to share that we used CodaPet.com to find Dr. Keri Wasmoen. She was incredibly kind and so, so gentle with Lucy. If any of you find yourself in a similar situation, I highly recommend her.
She also did her best to reassure us that we were doing the right thing, that providing a peaceful, pain-free end is the kindest thing you can do for a pet that is suffering.
But it’s also one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

I’m not sure how long it’s going to be before I quit making sure that I left the basement door cracked so she can get to her litter box, or checking at the door to see if she’s ready to come in.
So please forgive me if I’m not my normal self for a while as I work my way through the grief of losing a much beloved pet. She will be missed.
























































































































