Where to start?
I suppose it’s obvious, given the
last post, that losing Lucien re-opened old grief. After David died and left a palpable absence
in the house, I felt that adopting another cat or kitten would help me. The house was already shaken up and the
feline hierarchy in shambles. It was the
perfect time to add to the upheaval, while also helping me heal and offering a
distraction from grief and loss. I had
an opening, so to speak, and the Humane Society had filled cages.
Cats pretty much win the cat lottery
when they come home with me. Good food,
lots of toys, their own space (and sometimes rooms), and lots and lots of love
and attention. I’ve always felt that as
long as I can offer that and manage the care involved, then I should adopt
cats/kittens seeking forever homes. I
digress.
We met Lucien (then Lucian) at the
Humane Society in a cage with his brother.
David had also been at the Humane Society with his brother, Thomas. After David died and we realized what we had
lost, we both wished we had adopted Thomas, as well. Lucien’s brother was pending adoption and
Lucien caught my eye because he looked so much like David. I don’t recall that we looked at many other
cats, if any. I was taken with him
instantly, and, as it turned out after we adopted him, he was taken with
me.
He was about 3 months old and
insisted on perching on my shoulder and curling his arms around my neck. As a tiny little thing, this was
adorable. When he weighed more than 16
pounds, it was something else.
(laughs) He eventually graduated
from my shoulder to just lumping his whole body over my head at night. He was an adorable kitten and fit in
strangely fast.
David had bonded closely with
Neko. He’d been an adult when we brought
her home as an 8-week old baby and she’d glued herself to him. He was her new mommy. David loved her and she loved him. Lucien turned the tables. He tagged along behind her everywhere she’d
go. It annoyed her at first, but he
wormed his way into her heart. Twitch
was NOT happy, at all, about the new arrival, but Lucien fit right in with our
remaining cats, Lady Sakuya and Smokey Jones.
I have so many baby pictures of him with all the cats (except
Twitch). Like David, he became their
kitty glue. I had my pack back.
But above all that, Lucien loved
me. I was his. It took a while for me to see him as an alpha
male, but it was increasingly more apparent as he grew up. He was always next to me or around my neck or
on my head, pulling himself as close as possible. We started saying that he had to “become one”
with you.
While Twitch was alive, there was
strife between them. Lucien, being a
young hothead, didn’t recognize the “deal” Twitch and David had, and refused to
yield to Twitch as the king of the hierarchy.
They fought a lot, which in turn caused issues between Twitch and the
others. He was no longer left on his
own, happy to be with us, and happy to have the interlopers off with the “prince.” Lucien wanted to be king.
But when he wasn’t fighting for the
kingdom, he was a silly little guy. He
loved to play with himself, like a child with an imaginary friend. We had a small cat tent that he’d go into and
wrestle around, talking to himself. His
jibberish was so adorable. (The tent
didn’t live long.) He loved playing with
spider rings and paper or crinkly balls.
Like many of the others, he’d play fetch, which later turned into a
version of cat tennis, because he learned he could lay down and just swat the
balls back to us without moving. Did I
mention that we eventually started calling him Fat Lu? Or Fat Lu-ey, (in addition to King
Lu-ey). I think he got up to 18 pounds,
which we got down to 16 pounds. He was a
solid guy. Very stocky in the chest and
shoulders.
As he grew, he resembled David less
and less, but that was good. Lucien
never lived in David’s shadow, although it may seem like it now. The way he died has made me realize patterns
they shared. We’ll get there at some
point.
We had to make a quality of life
choice for Twitch when he was 16 because he’d gone senile. He’d only ever liked me and then Tim, but he
barely knew us, and he had already hated the other cats, so that had degraded. The cats were strangers he didn’t know. He no longer knew to use the litter box, and
was always hissing and scared or angry.
He was a miserable old man who had no idea who any of us were or where
he was. His life would have been reduced
to confinement in a bathroom with little contact. It was a hard decision, but he had no quality
of life. Shortly after, we also lost
Smokey Jones following surgical complications.
Smokey had had several run ins with life threatening bladder
infections. He was 9. David had been 9. Neko was 9 when she passed. Only Twitch and Lady Sakuya (Saké for short)
made it into seniorhood before passing at 16.
The house quieted without
Twitch. Of course we mourned for him,
but there was a sense of relief because he was no longer suffering. During this whole thing, which had gone on
for a few years, we had a few stray cats show up in the yard. Both were black. In case I hadn’t mentioned it, all of my cats
were/are black, or mostly black. My dad
laughed because of course the stray black cats would show up at my house. I’d been diagnosed with MS and was having a
hard time walking and with cognition, and got overwhelmed easily. I tried working with Animal Control,
specifically with the stray that would go into the cornfield behind us and cry
loudly. The other one was a plump female
that I think belonged to a nearby house.
Following AC’s advice, I earned the male’s trust so that they could come
trap him, which turned in a debacle not worth going into it.
There’s a much cuter story hidden
within. At that house, a 3 foot tall
brick façade lined the front. Lucien was
about 2 years old, was still jibber-jabbering to himself, and had taken control
of the cats (except for Twitch). I have
a photo of him sitting in the center of a Victorian sofa with two cats on
either side behind him on a sofa table.
He looks like the don of the cats with his right- and left-hand
men. Kiss his ring and he’ll grant you a
favor. Anyway, the stray male had
started sitting on the brick façade to look inside, and Lucien had started
sitting on the cat house in front of that window. You’d think this would be bad. Very bad.
But no. Lucien and the male would
“talk” through the screen.
O_O what?
That is how Jonny got his name. He is our only cat named after a character in
my books. Lucien and Jonathan go
together, so we had our own Lucien and Jonathan. And now I have two cats named “John” or “Jon”
since Constantine is named after John Constantine. Again, I digress. I think I’ve had too many cats. Nah.
So, Lucien and Jonny would chat
through the screen like the best of pals.
That was fine and good as long as Jonny was outside. When Jonny came to live inside? Oh no.
NO. NO. NO.
Lucien wasn’t having any of that.
(sigh) Jonny became like the new
Twitch, but Lucien kept him under his paw.
Jonny was a little older than Lucien, but they were close in age. Jonny had been fending for himself for at
least 2 years. He wasn’t used to this
whole cat hierarchy thing. At times, Lu
and Jonny were the best of friends and, at others, the worst of enemies. They were best frenemies.
We wouldn’t have Jonny if not for
Lu. Lucien saved him. Jonny was scared of the ceiling fans and cars
on the tv, and he’d hide under the bed when it thundered. I’ve seen a cat so grateful to live inside or
so in Heaven while kneading a soft pillow.
Jonny very quickly adjusted to indoor life and all the soft things –
blankets, pillows, laps, etc. I am happy
that Lucien gave that to him.
Lucien knew that No meant No, and he’d
get this hurt look on his face, even though he abided by the given No. That didn’t stop him from sneaky and trying
to ninja his way onto a lap. He never
quite understood that he was far too big to pull off the lap ninja thing. He used to take forever to get settled and
would never tuck his tail in. You know,
Lulu, I really love you and all, but I don’t want your butthole touching my
arm. Sorry.
He learned “lay down” and would
settle quickly, and he learned to tuck his tail. I had taught one of the cats to sit on
command for treats, and Lucien saw this happening, so he came in and sat on
command for treats, which in turn caught the attention of the others (the
others, at this point, being Jonny, Vash, Atari, and Groucho, with the original
sitter being Constantine). So the others
would come in, sit on command, and get treats.
Incidentally, I taught Groucho to “ask” for treats (and now he asks for
everything). Jonny knows “kisses” and
will present his head for kisses and sometimes try to give kisses. Jonny also knows “rawr!” and will stretch his
arms out with his claws extended. Atari
knows “stretch,” which is similar to “rawr!” except that she stretches out and
even has that flattened ear, whole body shudder of a good stretch. And I swear that Constantine knows the word “vet”
and his doctor’s name, because he will disappear before I can even dial the
phone. If he was human, he’d the be the
guy that shuts himself up in the basement wearing a tin foil cap while using
his HAM radio to broadcast conspiracy theories.
Much of that is dependent on their
individual make up and smarts (or lack of smarts, sorry Atari), but Lucien
started it. He was a good king. He kept the ranks in line. He also had a routine. He ate breakfast and then came back to bed,
taking over Tim’s side with his head on the pillow and his body stretched out
like a person. I’d reach over every
morning when I woke up and stroke his belly and he’d mumble his greetings and
purr happily. Then we’d get up and do
treats, and he’d settle in for a day of lounging with his queen (Atari). Then he’d eat dinner and come downstairs for “after
dinner Lu love.” Before I had cancer,
this consisted of him sitting on my lap, curled up toward my shoulder, to grab
my boobs. He was a pervert. Lu was a boob man, and any other woman who
entered this house can attest to that, and some guys, too. After cancer, Lu learned he couldn’t do that
anymore, so if he needed to “become one,” he’d go to Tim, and if not, he’d come
lay down next to me and tell me how much he loved me. He supervised every bathroom trip and was my
life guard for bathing. I could talk to
him using his vocalizations and had been working on starting conversations with
him prior to his death. My husband said
it was creepy, but it was cute. The
vocalizations aren’t words like ours, but rather expressions of emotion or
feeling. So, basically, we just told
each other “I love you” repeatedly.
After my second cancer surgery,
Lucien snuck in a boob grab for the first time since the diagnosis and I could
have died laughing, the poor guy. I
opted for a double mastectomy with immediate reconstruction using the “gummy
bear” inserts. Lu did not like the gummy
bear boobs. He got one grab in and visibly
wilted before me as he sank into a depressed kitty puddle across my belly. L (Laughing) It was adorable. And it was the last time he tried to grab my
boobs. Robin and Meredith would let him
get his fix when they came to visit or take care of me. Having a boob man for a cat gave my medical
team and I plenty to laugh about during all of the cancer tests and biopsies
and whatnot, though. I don’t how it’s
translating via blog, but it’s really pretty funny. Some cats like to knead on soft
stomachs. Lu just liked to a bit higher.
Also prior to cancer, Lucien slept
with me – usually on my head. After
cancer, my physical dynamics with all the cats changed, but mostly with him, so
he snuggled in with Tim at night.
Previously, this had been Jonny’s territory, so there was a bit of
fighting. I used a stuffed giraffe to
break it up. It actually worked. I’ve used the giraffe to break up fights
between Groucho and Vash, too. Usually, Lucien
would stretch out between us so he could touch us both. Lucien liked to touch us and to hold
hands. He was so affectionate and very
sweet.
In addition to running a tight ship
with the underlings, Lu used them all as pillows. He was a cuddle buddy, but more than anything,
he wanted something soft for his head.
He didn’t really know what to do with Atari when she came home, but then
again, no one knew what to do with Atari.
She was a little hot-tempered alien cat.
Fearless. She had our 95-pound
German Shepherd walking on eggshells.
She’s a bit lost now, but we’re getting through it. I didn’t realize how much she mimicked Lu
until I saw her looking for him at treat time because she would only go for her
treats when he went for his, or at dinner, when she’d look at the spot where
his bowl was because she would wait for him to begin eating before she began
eating. She goes into my bathroom and
stares at the rug where he loved sleep and then leaves because he’s not there
and she’s not sure what to do. For the
first time, she’s on her own, making her own decisions, and figuring “it”
out. She may be a tough little thing,
but she’s so fragile and vulnerable, too.
But don’t tell her that or she’ll prove you wrong and go into “Atari’s
going to be a sh!t” mode. She didn’t
just earn her nickname “The Destroyer,” she wears it proudly.
You might have noticed that for
every story about Lu, there’s a story about another cat or two or three. He was a true alpha male and was involved
with every cat in the pride. At any
given moment, I’d have all 6 of them around me, “protecting me” in a circle as
Robin used to say. My guard cats. If I was on the laptop at my desk, Lu and
Atari would be on my left, cuddled in the chair, Groucho would be at my feet,
Jonny and Vash would be on my right at the top of the stairs, and Constantine
would be stretched out behind me.
Circle. If I was visiting with
Robin in the great room, Lu and Atari would be entertaining her, Vash would be
guarding me, sitting up right at my feet (and looking terribly bored), and
Jonny would be sitting on the arm of the couch beside me like a gargoyle. Constantine and Groucho are stranger danger
cats, but they’d come out for her and guard me from a distance. They were watching. She loved it.
But again, that was Lu. Like David, he was the glue that held my
merry band of misfits together. Now,
without him, I’m once again finding myself alone in a room with no cats when I
used to have all 6 circled around me. As
I type this now, Atari is wandering around the library, listlessly. I don’t know where the others are. The only thing that has stayed true is their
locations when I wake up (because they want their treats). No Lucien beside me, but two others on the
bed, Atari in the dog’s blankets near the door, and another just outside the
door, all eager for the second I move.
And Vash is downstairs with the dog.
I still reach over to pet Lucien, expecting to hear his morning
mumbles. He’s not there.
I’ve said Lucien was a great
pretender. In hindsight, with David, we
could look back and see a plethora of warning signs that we missed. He was my first loss and my first gravely ill
cat. I didn’t know. In hindsight with Lucien, I can pick out less
than a handful of things that mean something now, but even clumped together
wouldn’t have raised my alarm. And
during that time, I’d been watching Jonny’s weight and had added canned senior
food to his diet, while also watching Constantine and Vash, who both have
chronic illnesses that require prescription diets. Constantine was born with chronic bladder inflammation,
which is rare in kittens, and Vash has pancreatitis. Either one could fall ill and die within
24-hours if I don’t catch it – Vash’s being the harder of the two to
manage. I care for them and I meet their
needs. But I failed Lucien. I know I couldn’t have known. I didn’t miss any red flags. He didn’t throw any up. Even two days beforehand, he’d launched
himself into the tub to play with a balled up piece of paper. If he hadn’t had the brain aneurysm, he would
have degraded like David until it was too late – and with David, we never knew
why he’d gotten so ill, and that has always bothered us. Thanks to Lucien, now we have an idea. But for Lu, it was also already was too
late. He was gravely ill before the
aneurysm – severely anemic with a failing liver. I can only take assurances that he was
greatly loved and he knew it. Lucien had
a great life, probably even better than David’s (which is hard to imagine). And even in the process of dying while
neurologically blind (as we later found out), in that little room at the
emergency clinic, when I called out to Lu in my sing-songy voice, he looked up
at me like he was so happy and smiling.
That so very brief moment lives long in my memories. I had no idea he was blind or that he was
crying because he didn’t know where he was and he was scared. In that moment, he knew I was there and he
was happy for it. And here’s where I
lose it. Excuse me.
I miss him so much. The others don’t talk to me or look at me
like he did. I am thankful for that singular
moment. It’s begun erasing the last
images I had of him in a state I wish he’d never have to be in. In a state we’ve never let any other cat
suffer. I wish I could have let him go
in peace before those last few seconds happened. I can only hope that he knew we were there
and that we let him go as soon as we could before he had to suffer any
more.
Even though he was blind, after he got
the injection, I was talking to him, petting him, and watching his eyes. I saw his light go dim and disappear. That’s when I knew he was my light of
love. It’s his epitaph. I miss him everyday. His absence is huge. And there will be no “distraction” or grief
kitten. I take care of my cats, but it
has gotten really hard. I can’t take on
another one right now. I have a good
home and the love, but a body that just can’t do it. Lulu was my routine, my best friend, my light
of love. I miss him dearly.
Rest in peace my friend. I love you so much.
(Please forgive typos and
whatnot. I did not proofread this.)
Looking back, this photo was taken the first day I recall him acting strangely. Since he's always buried in a pile of cats or hugging someone, I don't have many candid shots of just him like this.
Baby Lu shortly after coming home.
He pwned me from day one.
Lucien had weirdly round pupils. He was like an alien.
This was his LU-boat attack.
He couldn't cuddle with me, so he snuggled with my Charmin bear.
Boob man and Robin. Na na na na na na . . .
Mr. Kent, I found your cat.
Too blave!
He never stopped sleeping on my head. Pwned.
