Lucy Lacey, RIP
Her black eyes bore a rich crystal-like lucidity. She would bathe in the sun with sensuous abandon for hours, with fur engulfed and aglow with its rays. And, ever sensitive to spiritual presence, the lady would fervently purr on my lap while we prayed.
You will have noticed my accentuation of adjectival and adverbial usage in reference to Lucy, my lovely little feline, an accentuation applied if for no other reason than the fact that I gladly served as steward of her welfare as God gave her breath.
Lucy was born on July 10, 2002 and was put to sleep on January 12, 2012. She didn’t quite make it to ten, but the nine-and-one-half years were well invested in ways that only a cat knows how to live. And she was, if nothing more, a delight to me.
She nearly died when a kitten. A urinary tract infection almost got the best of her, but thankfully she survived. She spent two hours one evening tucked in my neck while in the throes of a fever, but with and from that tuck we indelibly bonded.
Lucy had a certain gait as she sauntered throughout the house, sometimes stealthily, sometimes nervously, often with a butterfly-like twirl as she brushed against one’s leg in affectionate display. There was sometimes a little attitude, but never towards me.
It was always love betwixt us. I have always adored cats, especially when they belong to me. Lucy was, unabashedly and unequivocally, my cat and I, in turn, was unequivocally and unabashedly, her master (and servant, but that is altogether another matter!).
English historian Christopher Hibbert has written biographies of Queen Victoria, the Duke of Wellington, Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli, as well as of London, Rome and Jerusalem. But I will remember him best for his cat named Ginger Rogers.
I ministered to a group of people who had been burned out of their townhouse complex a few summers back, seeking to offer consolation and prayer. The acute concern that many expressed for the welfare of their cats remains indelibly etched in my heart.
I do many things in the interests of my congregation, all of whom are very dear to me. My role is like that of a father, especially as I get older. It is always a privilege to stand with my flock when loved ones pass, including beloved animals.
My Lucy has joined Bogart, Scamper and Chester in cat-heaven. Perhaps they will share just how much they were loved by me. Mayhap they will tell stories that liken me to a Colossus. I know Lucy will extol the virtues of my lap, which was just purr-fect to her.
I know not whether our animals have an after-life. The Scriptures simply don’t tell us. I can’t dogmatize what is not given to me to know, one way or another. But I can hope and I can imagine and I can dream.
I did once, concerning Bogart. Bogie was a marvelously impressive cat! He died of kidney failure, but one would never have guessed by the way he gleefully ran to me upon recognition amidst one dream that I had. It was just a dream, but …
My grand-daughter Amber wants to visit Lucy; I share the sentiment, if only in my heart, in the realm of memory, where I will thank God for the gift of His grace. Perhaps I will meet her again, but I will ever be grateful for the time that God did give us.
January 12 is a bad day for me. My best friend died suddenly on January 12, 2009. My beautiful mother was diagnosed on January 12, 2010 with the inoperable cancer that took her life a month later. And I put my precious little cat to sleep on January 12, 2012.
John never knew what hit him; simply that he was with us one moment and with God the next. My mother was ready to meet God on Saturday evening, and went to Him on Sunday afternoon. Such was the blessing afforded to my human intimates.
It is heartening to know that God’s grace is pervasive, even to the animals; though they know not of Jesus or of the need to be born again and filled with His Spirit, they are beneficiaries of His common grace – Remember: He is mindful of the sparrows!
Lucy went to sleep in the warmth of my arms and to the love in my voice. Would to God that we could all go in such a comforting fashion! Men cry for their mothers as they die in horrid fashion on fields of battle, but my little Lucy had me to the end.
Gerard Manley Hopkins thanked God for dappled things. He was an Irish priest of the Jesuit order who was attuned to the beauty of God’s creation and the loveliness of the English language. I only wish he were as mindful of the beauty of cats.
But I can thank God for Lucy - her feline life, her feline ways, her feline affections; as well as for those translucent eyes, the sleek black fur awash in the sunshine and the sound of her purring when I am praying. It was and ever will be the feline sound of Amen!
Bradley E. Lacey
January 15, 2012