Farewell Queen Lucy


Yesterday was the first morning at home in over ten years that my cranky calico, Lucy, didn’t keep me company while I read my morning devotionals. It felt odd not to have her perched on the bar stool beside me, but I’ve known it was coming. You see, Lucy was old and her body was betraying her. A rescue cat, she, like other mysterious beauties, never revealed her exact age. We think she was fourteen or fifteen.

As she and I made the journey over the bridge to the Emergency Animal & Specialty Clinic near Maumelle Sunday night, I knew it might be her last ride. After talking to Dr. Smith, I felt I was making the right choice to release Lucy from her miserable existence. And I didn’t doubt the decision as I whispered my goodbyes to the old girl while the kind doctor administered a mercy drug. 

Even yesterday morning as we buried her in our flower bed-feline cemetery, I felt the same. Lucy is free.

Those who knew Lucy in her prime will remember a fat cat who ruled the house like an imperial monarch. Dubbed Queen Lucy by our neighbor, Cissy, she lived up to her title in every way. Queen Lucy chose me as her lady-in-waiting and ruled with an iron paw. When she wanted in my lap, she was by-golly-getting-there.

As a one-woman cat, Lucy even snubbed her kitty-loving master, Terry. The only time she ever sat in his lap was early on while we were still trying to decide whether to keep her. When he mentioned she didn’t seem to like him much, I admonished her that she should probably sit in Dad’s lap if she wanted to stay here. Within the hour, she jumped up on his lap and sat a while before walking away—never to return.


Okay. Check in that box.

I’m not sure Lucy ever understood or forgave us for bringing two kittens into the family to keep Terry company. We adopted brothers with the thought they’d entertain each other and leave her alone, which they mostly did. However, they were fascinated by her aloofness and tried to make friends. 

Lucy, pretending not to notice Timmy
Tuna Time









Toward the end, Max and Timmy finally wore her down so she tolerated being in close proximity for treat time. Sometimes she even allowed Timmy to curl up near us on the couch. But her message was always same: Don’t touch me!

I imagine I sometimes remind God of Lucy as I elbow my way into his presence, seeking what I want, delivered the way I want it, on my schedule. How many times have I ignored his other children with greater needs? Clamored for first place? Sought position or recognition? When I think of His long-suffering and kindness, I am grateful that God loves me even when I’m unlovable.


The wonderful thing about our Heavenly Father is that He loves us more than we can ever comprehend. There’s more than enough to go around for all of us.

  I will not forget you. 16 Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands …
Is. 49: 15b-16a

R.I.P. 
LUCY (NOT BAINES) JOHNSON

Birth ???? – September 21, 2014

IMPERIAL
IMPERVIOUS
IMPRINTED ON MY HEART

Copyright © Reflections Dorothy’s Ridge 2014. All rights reserved

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