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.
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.
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|
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!
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.
IMPRINTED ON MY HEART
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