lulu belle

Lulu Belle - she has such beautiful eyes and regal fur coat - so fitting for a Queen

This photo was taken last summer out in the back yard, out in her vast Queendom. The house feels completely weird without her this morning.

She and I had a lovely few hours yesterday morning. I bundled her up in a soft fleecy throw and she and I walked outside around the yard and garden and sat for awhile in a chair under the crab apple tree and watched the birds at the feeder. Yesterday was another of those absolutely perfect fall days, nothing but blue, blue sky and warm breezes. When we arrived at the vet's we had to wait for about 30 minutes, which ended up being absolutely perfect. She and I sat in the back seat of my car, with the windows rolled down, she cozy and snug curled up in her soft fleecy blanket, with the sun and the breeze and two eagles soaring in giant circles above us. And we reminisced, she and I, over our many, many years together.

Dean & I brought her home from the Toronto Humane Society, one Saturday afternoon, to our apartment in Parkdale . I think it was 1991 and she was 6 months old when we adopted her. We had chosen the name Lola but in short time decided that Lulu was somehow more fitting. Less than a week later Dean brought Ernst home (stray tabby kitten someone had brought into his workplace). As soon as tiny Ernst walked in the door Lulu became the Queen, he became the first of her many loyal feline, then canine, subjects. She was very demanding, and her most famous nickname was squawkamolé for her penchant to yell-meow as if maybe you were hard of hearing or didn't see her. Meow's came out of her with a grating loud forceful squawk - always.

She was loud and she was bossy and she was also very loving, extremely affectionate and always gentle. In her day an avid and skilled huntress and fierce, alert defender of these lands and territories here at 29 Black Street. She loved attention and loved to be picked up, she would burrow her little head in the crook of your arm and curl up and purr there ... endlessly. She slept on my bed, up high on a pile of pillows so perfect for a Queen, every night of her life until these last few weeks when she often found it too difficult to climb the stairs.

These last few days as soon as my slippered feet would hit the dark kitchen floor each early morning she would sit up on her puffy bed and yell good morning to me and I would try to concoct some delicacy that would appeal to her fading appetite - salmon & cream or flakes of chicken and broth maybe. When I'd go downstairs to get my second cup of coffee and after she's had a few nibbles of breakfast I'd bring her upstairs with me and she'd lie on a big pillow on the floor by the tub and keep me company while I had my bath.

She was a great cat. I'm thankful to have shared so many years of my life with her.