Ten days ago we lost our cat Lupa. She was eleven years old, and she had cancer that had moved into her lungs.
Lupa loved making the bed with us when we took freshly washed sheets out of the dryer. She was shy and liked having her cheeks rubbed. And she was sneaky in her lifelong quest for yogurt and cheese.
She was short and chubby, with a snow white chest and a little gray spot on the left side of her pink nose.
Lupa was happiest in familiar places, but every once in awhile she would walk right out the front door while we were doing errands. Then she would flop over — outside! — to have her belly rubbed.
Lupa knew her name, and she was a world-class purrer and snuggler. She always came when I called her, and she didn’t mind being picked up.
I miss her, very much. I think a poem is the best way to say ‘goodbye.’
by Harriet Monroe
Good-bye!—no, do not grieve that it is over,
The perfect hour;
That the winged joy, sweet honey-loving rover,
Flits from the flower.
Grieve not—it is the law. Love will be flying—
Yes, love and all.
Glad was the living—blessed be the dying.
Let the leaves fall.