We said goodbye to Lucy this afternoon. She fought the good fight against cancer, including three separate surgeries. When the disease came back this spring, we decided with our vet to just let her live out her time as comfortably as possible. She did so for many more weeks -- months even -- than we or our vet thought she would.
To be sure, she got the royal treatment even more than in the past. How many cats dine on prime Angus rare roast beef every day? (The dogs couldn't believe it.) Essentially, whatever she wanted was fine with us. We were feeling fortunate that she was able to stick around as long as she could.
We adopted Lucy in January 2004. She was probably about a year old, from what our vet could guess. She was nothing but skin and bones and a belly full of worms. She seemed to be barely surviving as a stray at a friend's barn, and we doubted she'd make it through the winter without some help. So we brought her home and took care of her. When I took the job in Madison, she went with me, along with Trinket the dog... Team Stoughton we were. When Trinket developed cancer in 2006, I never figured she'd outlast Lucy. But she did, and was nearby as Lucy passed on.
Lucy. Lucinda. Lucille. Lucemania. Luciteria. LooseChange. LooseMorals. LooseStools. Lucy had a lot of dumb nicknames. But she was an exceptional pet who loved and was loved. My heart is really hurting tonight.
Farewell, my sweet Lucy. I will never forget you.