By Hania Noor
Dear Lucy,
I was a baby when you were a baby. I remember my friend Aamir telling me about you in elementary school and then rushing home to tell my family about this cat that could be ours.
I remember seeing you for the first time, thinking you were quite big for a kitten—bigger than the one Aamir had described. I remember my family being a little hesitant to take in a 10-month-old cat, one who was clearly attached to her owner and had no idea she would be going home with a completely different family.
I remember how scared you were. You did not let us pet or hold you. I can still hear the sound of the bells around your collar as you wandered through our apartment—all of us holding our breath and hoping you were okay. Hoping you were happy, that you liked us and that maybe one day you’d want us as much as we wanted you.
You were always a feisty little kitty, slow to trust—and that was OK. You’d been through a lot. Your trust wasn’t given—it was earned. You loved hesitantly, but you loved, even when others didn’t think you did.
I remember the first time you nuzzled your little face against our legs. I remember your quiet purr. I remember when you’d sit beside us just to show us you were there. I remember your soft meows in the middle of the night—hearing your voice for the first time and wondering why you didn’t use it much. What made you so quiet?
I remember sharing my secrets with you under the bed, amazed that you let me come so close without moving. I was a baby when you were a baby but you were so much wiser than anyone I had known. My confidant—my personal jar of secrets.
I remember the family fights—my mom, sisters and I—the yelling in the house sometimes. I remember crying on the bed and you jumping up and quietly laying down next to my feet. You never said a word and never blinked an eye. You were just there. You always came when someone was upset. That’s how I knew you loved me as much as I loved you.
I remember high school. Old ‘friends’ would come over and you’d inspect them. One sniff and you’d turn around and hide in the room—almost as if you were telling me what was to come. Such a clever little kitty.
I remember when we got Hubert, our second cat. We should’ve asked you first. I’ve always felt sorry about that. You didn’t trust easily and we knew that. But we fell in love with him as we did you and suddenly your home became his. You didn’t get along much at first, but over time, I knew you loved him as he loved you. Your fights could get intense but you two got used to each other. Sometimes, I think about how he must have felt when you weren’t there anymore.
I remember my first heartbreak and I remember you being there. I wish you were there to experience my first love—I bet you would’ve liked him. You always liked the pretty ones.
I remember when I realized I might be your favourite. You’d follow me up the stairs when I came home. You’d come over when I called you. We had a special bond. I saw so much of myself in you.
You were a baby when I was a baby. In many ways, we grew up together. You understood me as I understood you. I remember sitting outside in the summer, reading while you lay beside me, basking in the sun. I remember seeing your face at the door every time I came home.
I remember finding out you were sick. I ignored my mom when she first told us you weren’t eating. I couldn’t fathom it. How could you be sick? You were Lucy. You could never be sick.
But you were. I remember how much weight you lost, taking you to the doctor and hearing them say they couldn’t do the tests without sedating you, which might end your life. I was so angry. I still am. You didn’t trust easily and they were doctors. How could they do that to you? You were my sweet girl. You couldn’t hurt anyone. You’d gotten so weak.
I remember hearing it was cancer. I cried every single day. I remember you struggling to breathe, and I thought about all the times I should’ve been there for you—all the times I was careless. I remember you getting better with medicine at first and how happy we were. Then it got worse. I fed you with my fingers because it was the only way you’d eat. I watched you like a hawk because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.
I remember when we knew we were losing you. I remember the day we said goodbye.
Now, I come home and no one is at the door. I read alone. I cry in my room, imagining you at the end of the bed. Nothing is the same without you. It’s been three years but you’re always on my mind.
I’ve never loved anyone the way I loved you. I’ve never felt the loss of someone the way I felt yours.
But even in your absence, you’re still here. You weren’t just my cat—you were my friend, my confidant, my family. I’ll carry you with me always. In every quiet moment, in every warm sunbeam, in every memory of a life we shared.
You’ll always be my baby, just as I was yours.
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