Our beloved Lucy Gray died in September at the age of 18. For a pussycat that’s a good, long life I’m told.
Lucy was not a cat that meowed very much, and since she’d gotten older she wasn’t very frisky. The truth is what Lucy did most of the time was sleep. Invariably we’d come home to find her sleeping on the bed or on the couch, in the closet or on the rug, in her wicker cat bed, or curled up on a sunny windowsill.
So now I wonder – as Lucy made so little noise, and took up so little space why does the apartment feel so empty without her?
Dana Susan Lehrman