We are feeling compos mentis again after Lucy’s passing.
Many thanks to all of you who so kindly wrote to say you were sorry at my loss when Lucy died – it’s greatly appreciated. And I loved some of the stories you sent me about your animals, especially Kayman, who stopped off for a Big Mac on the way to meet his maker.
The DH and I are feeling much better now, after catching up on sleep and scanning old pictures of Lucy that remind us more of the fantastic life she led rather than the manner of her death. We were partly traumatised, I think, by the fact that she didn’t die easily, and that people turned up to view the house (we live in an historic building and tourists sometimes visit), immediately after she died when I was in no fit state to talk to anyone.
It was also sad clearing out the house because all her ‘things’ were to do with her illness – steps onto the bed, medicines, syringes and whatnot. She had no bed in the house because she basically lived in the upper barn and only came in at night, when she would snuggle up with us, often under the covers.
Lucy was born at the farm up the road, so she never knew any other life than here – hunting, stalking, lying around in the sun, climbing up the vine to be with us at night, or snoozing in the porch roof up above our heads. The picture above is of her on our bedroom windowsill, ready to make her descent.
She’d only been here a week or two when she and her brother killed a couple of young rats, and she continued to get a kill or two each day for the rest of her life. She preferred prey to catfood, and in her last week, was fiercesome in defence of a fresh dead mouse I found on the driveway and brought her to play with – instead she wolfed it straight down.
So, we will simply miss her, like we miss the others – the other four cats that are buried in the orchard, and to whom we say good morning when we walk around the garden.