This is Lucy. Like many people’s pets, she has several names. She’s hardly ever called by her real name–unless she’s in trouble. Lucille (by me), Lulu Belle (by the kids), Visa (also by me, because she’s everywhere you want to be and I’m always tripping over her).
She’s also known as the Dumb Cat. We have two cats, so Lucy thinks she’s one of them. But you can tell when the cats look at her, they think she’s really dumb for a cat. For the record, Rocki is the Bad Cat because she wants to go outside just like the Dumb Cat. Lexi is the Scaredy Cat because, well, she’s scared of everyone but me.
More than anything, though, Lucy’s my husband’s dog. For his birthday, I got him a card that had an image of a man on a boat with a black Lab. It sits on his desk as Mike’s definition of a perfect day. Unfortunately, he sold his boat to put wood floors in our house.
And now, Lucy is also gone. She suffered from cancer of the mouth. And when a Lab is miserable, you know it’s bad.
We spent one last Sunday morning with her. Rocki was stalking her yarn ball as she does most mornings. Lucy thought, of course, that Rocki wanted to play with her, and so chased her under the Christmas tree, barking, completely confused as to why, once again, the other cats wouldn’t play with her.
And so she leaves us with one more memory to string on the chain of those she’s given us over the years. Goodbye, dear friend. See you on the other side.