There were several occasions when I attempted to compose a blog entry to celebrate the life of Lucy, our 18-year-old and six-year traveling companion. Each time I sat at the keyboard my chest would tighten, my eyes would well with tears, and I’d shut down the program to try again another day.
Well, another day has arrived and instead of writing a sad, tear-jerking account of our 17 years together, I decided to just share some funny stories and photos of the cat who was lucky enough to be literally dumped on me when I was not looking for a pet.
It began in May of 2003 when I agreed to babysit a young cat who was being abused. It was supposed to be for just six weeks, but events I won't bother to expand upon extended her stay to 17 years.
She was almost one-year old when she arrived. I had never had a cat as a pet before, so what was to follow was going to be a new adventure for us both. For the first two weeks, she would not allow me to "see" her. She hid under the stove whenever I was home and ventured out only when I went to work or slept. I knew she was alive from the evidence of food eaten and the presents she left me in the litter pan. It was going to take some planning and engineering for me to catch her out in the open and then block her entrance under the stove. I didn't want her hiding under there because I was unable to use the oven or broiler with her beneath the burner (old stove folks) I needed to outsmart her at her own game.
My plan involved obtaining a large section of cardboard that I cut and folded into a tall, L-shape and had it at the ready to shove into place once I caught her unaware. The day finally came when I arrived home early and there she was – in the hallway! She would have needed to run past me to get under the stove, but I was able to quickly get that cardboard in place and block her hiding spot.
Her eyes were as big as saucers, scared of me and this new place we both did not yet know was to be OUR home. She ran and hid under the chair, then under the bed, behind the radiator and finally under my dresser. I just let her be to adjust to this large and scary studio apartment.
I continued to feed her, scoop poop and talk to her as if she were an invisible baby. I made no outward attempts at being friends. She avoided me and I avoided her - afraid she might bite me. I figured this was only going to be for six weeks anyway; I could manage that!
It took another
couple of weeks for her to overcome some of her fear when she jumped up on my bed late one night and slowly crawled up onto my chest.
She was just an inch from my face, my breath (when I was not holding it) was
directly in her face. I remember prayers floating through my head, “Please God,
don’t let her bite my face. Please God, don’t let her bite my face.” I must
have repeated it a dozen times until I felt a little rumble on my chest as the
sweet sound of a purr began to emit from this elusive cat. I eventually relaxed and believed my face was safe from getting bitten. I did not dare touch her. I was just grateful my prayer was
answered.
The next evening, the same procedure occurred. This time, I slowly brought my hand up and stroked her fur and the purr got louder. I scratched under her chin and I thought there was a motorboat on my chest instead of a little cat.
Her original name was "Monroe" after Marilyn Monroe due to a black mark near her nose. I decided she was NOT a “Monroe,” so by the seventh week into my six-week babysitting stint, I booked an appointment with a vet and found out she was just a year old, an "American Short Hair/Tuxedo,"and was NOT altered.
Once home and watching her recover from her surgery and paying a hefty vet bill, I declared myself entitled to change her name, I came up with a couple: Lucy, Gracie and Rosie. I ended up choosing Rosie. Funny thing though, was that every day when I came home from work, I would mimic Ricky Ricardo. from "I Love Lucy," and exclaim, “Lucy, I’m home!” My continuing to call out that greeting, caused her name to officially become Lucy.
Some of the little nicknames I had for Lucy, depending upon the situation were: Mommy's baby, Mommy's Girl, Lucifer, Missy Miss, Miss Priss and Mommy's sweatheart.
The saying, “You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone,” was only partially true, because I knew I had an amazingly smart and incredible cat. She was not destructive, she never bit anyone in her entire lifetime, she was every vet’s dream, and she never tried to escape the motor homes. She never flinched, fought or scratched while having any procedure performed. Basically, she was a scare-dy-cat, full of love, mostly just for her mommy and daddy. She received so much from us that she didn’t need it from others. She tolerated few people, among them, Meema Too and Uncle Charlie.
I knew that once she was gone, I would never have a cat that could come
close to filling the emotional bond we had, or be as great an RV traveler as she, yet I knew I would, eventually, long for another companion to fill that furry hole in my heart.
Throughout our full-time cross-country travels, we indicate the states we visit on a US map on our door. I was planning to put another one up to indicate all the states where Lucy had visited a veterinarian. They are listed throughout my blog, but off the top of my head, she visited one as far west as Coastal Oregon, as far east as Mystic, CT, as far north as Glenns Falls, NY and as far south as the Orlando area in Fl. I kept perfect health records that each vet appreciated having for reference. Lucy visited 32 states, saw three of the Great Lakes, the Pacific, Atlantic and Gulf of Mexico and even stayed on Disney World Property.
Her
traveling routine consisted of crawling into her open carry bag and staying
there most of the trip. She came out to sit by us or eat, drink and even use
the litter pan. She mastered how to do all those things at speeds up to 70 MPH. Watching her walk from the front to the back of the
RV while on a major thoroughfare was comedic as she braced herself to match the
sway of the RV. She would have made a terrific airline stewardess. At the end
of each day on the road, we were all “home” and happily sharing "lap" time.
I had over 1,800 photos of Lucy, so in order not to bore you, I tried to narrow it down to some of my favorites that depicted her serenity, beauty and funny personality.
Lucy went deaf in her last couple of years, yet she was intelligent enough to learn the sign language I had researched and taught her. I was excited with each sign she mastered, but the best was the “I love you” sign, because I really needed to communicate that every day.
Our last journey was a short one. Just about 7 miles, but as sad as it was to say goodbye to our sweet Lucy, I am happy she left us with so many funny and loving moments to cherish. A simple twist of fate back in 2003 made life for the three of us far better than it could ever have been imagined. Some moments of sadness remain, but no regrets.
Lucy Lu - June 2002-May 2020
