Last Friday, our cat, Lucky, died. It was time. He lived a good 18 years.
We got Lucky. with his sister Lucy, as a young kitten from one of Theo's classmates. When Lucky, a black** kitten, was a few weeks old, he followed his mother out a door that closed on him before he was all of the way through. His family thought the slamming door had killed him, but no, Lucky had other ideas. When he came to us a few weeks later, he was a healthy, playful kitten that we named Lucky because of the good luck he had already had in his young life.
It was soon evident that he was the dominant cat over his litter mate Lucy, a sweet gentle girl. Three years later he remained the top cat when the other two cats, Leo and Annie, came into the house. Despite constant challenges from Annie, Lucky remained in charge. No need for swats or growls to keep the others in line. A stern look from him was all that it took.
As part of his leadership role, he was a leader in the food department. He was the one who got to eat first and the one who opened the food bag for the others. He could tear a hole in a new bag of food in no time flat. Then the others got to enjoy the spoils of his efforts. We tried to put the food away as soon as we got it, but he was amazingly fast at this trick.
He also got first crack at the prey that ventured into our house. He didn't bring the dead mouse or mole to us as many cats do, he hid them under one particular rug in the basement. The same rug that he did his trick of laying on his side and running around the edge of it. We don't know what all of that meant in cat behavior, but I guess he did.
Lucky was also a relaxed cat who enjoyed a good lap to purr on and a pat from anyone--stranger or not. Even the vet. That was until he had some medical problems that needed invasive procedures. After that, the the vet was not his friend. In fact, sometimes it took two or three of the most experienced people at the vet's to help Lucky with what he needed. Can't say that I blamed him. I wouldn't have been very happy with the people who poked and prodded me for no good reason that I could understand. But he and I survived as well as the other cats whom he hissed at for several days after they had been to the vet.
He was also our adventure kitty. All of our cats were indoor cats. They were curious about the outside, but happy to watch the show from a window. A door left open by mistake might get a cat creeping outside, but never a dash. So we couldn't figure out how and why we would occasionally find Lucky outside meowing at a window to come back in. He seemed happy, just ready to come inside for a little warmth. Sometimes he had been out all night and we didn't even know he was out there. He helped us figure out one time that we had a torn screen (maybe he tore it), but other times we never figured out how he made it out. But he always came back.
I have 18 years of stories to tell about Lucky, too numerous to tell all of them here. Let me just say that there is an emptiness in our house now that wasn't there last week. Lucky had a good long life that we are very grateful for and he will be missed.
*We now have two cats, Annie and Leo.
**On first glance, Lucky was a black cat. But a further look revealed more. Each one of his hairs was black tipped, but the rest of it was light grey often giving him a curious look. The vet called him a tabby because of the stripes on his tail and officially a Domestic Short Hair. We called him Lucky.
