"My latest sun is sinking fast," Noah eloquently wrote in a recent Facebook posting, borrowing a line from the great old song "Angel Band." He was referring to Lucy, our beloved, sweet, wise, creaky old cat, who is entering that twilight stage where the vet can do no more (pancreatic cancer, they think; the same thing that we Millers' saintly old dog Alfie died of back in the 1980s). We are holding her a lot, feeding her by hand and just keeping her as comfy as possible. She retains the same sweet, calm, friendly personality she's had for her full almost-16 years, still likes to lie outside in the yard under the sun or moon or under her beloved Black Hills spruce trees. Lately I've been painting my house and she's sprawled nearby, just happy to be in our company. Moriah, who was helping me paint, took this photo of Lucy and me (yes, I'm covered in paint, and so was Moriah) last week. (Postscript: Lucy died a few days after this photo was taken in our cat hospice living room, amid many tears. Noah buried her deep in our back yard underneath some peonies transplanted from Old Frontenac, and we set up a memorial to her there and in the house. Best cat ever, hands down; I'm not kidding when I say this cat helped raise Noah. After Lucy died, Noah's friend Johnny, who lived with us a short while in high school and bonded with Lucy bigtime, got a kitten and named her LucyCat II. She was that awesome, our Lucy!)
