Rifle Travel Blog

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I remember her first
snow day. She was so little then. I remember using a kissing noise to call her
in at night or whenever I wanted her to come.. She was a ‘crabby old lady’ I’d
say, and she remained petite throughout her life. She was opinionated as you’d
expect, and she liked fruit, like a bat.

Lulu was my daughter’s cat and disappeared three days
ago. For over 10 years, this mouser would greet me whenever I came home; a
gesture I’d shamelessly taken for granted I’ve now since learned. A single Dad
who doesn’t get his children to greet him when he comes home—I’d get Lulu, a
pain-in-the-ass black feline who’d claw the screen up whenever she wanted to be
let inside.

“Stupid cat,” I’d mutter as she always moved in front of
my vehicle, leaving me to hope I wouldn’t hit her as I crawled into the garage.
Scratching sounds could be heard in the wee hours of the morning as she would
paw at the fiberglass shower wall, hoping someone would wake from their slumber
and turn on the bathtub faucet so she could get a drink from the spicket. I
could never leave tomatoes on the counter or she’d commandeer them causing me to
cuss aloud whenever I’d discovered her sampling. She had the stinkiest breath,
and her tongue was rougher than most almost to the point of pain if you let her
lick you; I guess that’s why her coat was so soft, so well kept. She’d hiss
whenever you’d boot her outside or whenever you’d pet her too much. She’d beg
(all the time) too, prompting tens of “no’s” whenever you chose to imbibe on the
couch with your plate. I’d knick-named her “Lootie Bug”, “DuDu”, or just plain
“Black Puddin’” and the kids would ask me to sing the song I made up about her
all the time.. She made it over fourteen years, being

I say prayers at night that Lulu be ok, wherever she is.
And I pray for the strength to console my little girl- who’s cat she was. For
all of my daughter’s 11 years she’s had this furball as her sidekick—providing
warmth and comfort by sleeping next to her every night, and being witness to all
my daughter’s precious secrets behind her closed bedroom door.

For the last three days I
drive up and there’s no black imp waiting for me to let her in, just the frog in
my throat that urges more tears. Funny how the memory of a little
pain-in-the-ass black kitty will do that to a guy

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photo by: Bulldog1up