Lucy Puff: May 2 2009-October 18, 2024
This is one of the hardest things I have ever had to write.
Many of you have been around here for a long, long time, and can probably recall Lucy photos and stories of her many adventures over the years; if not, there are nearly 1,000 photos documenting the life of this precious, sweet, and feisty tortie cat for you to enjoy and laugh at, because she really was a character.
While Lu had slown down a little bit over the past couple of years, and was sleeping more than she had previously, she never failed to follow me around and involve herself in everything I did, from bathing to ironing to cooking to working to sleeping to insomniatic returns to the living room to idly flip through a book. When I was working in the gardens or with the birds or something outside, nine times out of ten, Miss Puff was sitting in a window, watching. Lu was always there, an integral, day-brightening part of my life, all day, nearly every day--and I will confess that I only left her for out-of-town events under duress.
We were part of one another, somehow. She was my friend.
Little Princess Puff had been herself nearly to the very end--alternately complaining about and voraciously eating her food, stealing Grant's water and kibble, trying to get into trouble with an attempt to follow me into the garage on laundry day, smacking Grant on the nose when he got too pushy with her, regarding Katie with minor disdain, and, of course, being with me--awake, sleeping, working, reading, sewing, whatever.
Last week, alas, my darling was very suddenly not herself, spending most of her time on the sofa, eating less and less, and, after an emergency vet visit in an attempt to figure things out (we first thought, with good historical reason, she had probably eaten a dried leaf fallen from Grant's coat), even her refusing the chicken I poached for her. I spent most of last week, from the time she began acting oddly, working beside her, Lu snuggled up beneath one of her little pink-striped fleece blankets. After tucking a hot water bottle behind her, I slept beside her on the sofa; every night for nearly sixteen years, she had hopped onto the bed to sleep atop or beside me. I did all I could.
Lucy was too sweet, too affectionate, too good to allow her to suffer. The mobile vet who came to the house (highly recommended if you are able) agreed it was likely Lucy's time to go. Last Friday afternoon, about 3:45, we sent my darling, precious, beloved Lucy Pie on ahead of us.
A piece of me, a piece of my life is gone; there is a hole in my heart, one I can actually feel. The hurt has been keeping me up nights since we let Lucy go. Despite those of us in it, the house feels very empty, very quiet (Lucy had a big personality for such a little cat!) and very, very strange.
I miss my dear little friend terribly. All pet people know this day will come, of course. But still, I am devastated and shattered. Frankly, words cannot express how much I hurt, how much I have cried in the past week, and tomorrow is, of course, the first painful anniversary of her death. My dearest hope is she didn't suffer, for I couldn't bear that. My husband and I truly thought it was just another thing she would bounce back from. Alas, heartbreak waited instead.
Please give your little pet or pets an extra scritch on Lucy Puff's behalf today. She was beloved, and all pets should be. She will be missed, by me in particular, tremendously, deeply, this kitty of my heart.
Lucy Puff: May 2 2009-October 18, 2024
This is one of the hardest things I have ever had to write.
Many of you have been around here for a long, long time, and can probably recall Lucy photos and stories of her many adventures over the years; if not, there are nearly 1,000 photos documenting the life of this precious, sweet, and feisty tortie cat for you to enjoy and laugh at, because she really was a character.
While Lu had slown down a little bit over the past couple of years, and was sleeping more than she had previously, she never failed to follow me around and involve herself in everything I did, from bathing to ironing to cooking to working to sleeping to insomniatic returns to the living room to idly flip through a book. When I was working in the gardens or with the birds or something outside, nine times out of ten, Miss Puff was sitting in a window, watching. Lu was always there, an integral, day-brightening part of my life, all day, nearly every day--and I will confess that I only left her for out-of-town events under duress.
We were part of one another, somehow. She was my friend.
Little Princess Puff had been herself nearly to the very end--alternately complaining about and voraciously eating her food, stealing Grant's water and kibble, trying to get into trouble with an attempt to follow me into the garage on laundry day, smacking Grant on the nose when he got too pushy with her, regarding Katie with minor disdain, and, of course, being with me--awake, sleeping, working, reading, sewing, whatever.
Last week, alas, my darling was very suddenly not herself, spending most of her time on the sofa, eating less and less, and, after an emergency vet visit in an attempt to figure things out (we first thought, with good historical reason, she had probably eaten a dried leaf fallen from Grant's coat), even her refusing the chicken I poached for her. I spent most of last week, from the time she began acting oddly, working beside her, Lu snuggled up beneath one of her little pink-striped fleece blankets. After tucking a hot water bottle behind her, I slept beside her on the sofa; every night for nearly sixteen years, she had hopped onto the bed to sleep atop or beside me. I did all I could.
Lucy was too sweet, too affectionate, too good to allow her to suffer. The mobile vet who came to the house (highly recommended if you are able) agreed it was likely Lucy's time to go. Last Friday afternoon, about 3:45, we sent my darling, precious, beloved Lucy Pie on ahead of us.
A piece of me, a piece of my life is gone; there is a hole in my heart, one I can actually feel. The hurt has been keeping me up nights since we let Lucy go. Despite those of us in it, the house feels very empty, very quiet (Lucy had a big personality for such a little cat!) and very, very strange.
I miss my dear little friend terribly. All pet people know this day will come, of course. But still, I am devastated and shattered. Frankly, words cannot express how much I hurt, how much I have cried in the past week, and tomorrow is, of course, the first painful anniversary of her death. My dearest hope is she didn't suffer, for I couldn't bear that. My husband and I truly thought it was just another thing she would bounce back from. Alas, heartbreak waited instead.
Please give your little pet or pets an extra scritch on Lucy Puff's behalf today. She was beloved, and all pets should be. She will be missed, by me in particular, tremendously, deeply, this kitty of my heart.