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I’m sorry to say that Lulu, a dear and beloved friend, passed away today.

She was a beautiful calico with large yellow-green eyes and a luxurious coat in patches of black, white, and auburn. Her fur was, as more than one vet put it, as soft as a rabbit’s, and the hair itself so outgoing that many articles of clothing still feel her presence, and bring it to people who have not otherwise met her.

Her age remains a mystery to the end. Medical records from her earlier life in Rochester apparently date back 14 years, and might not even include contemporary mention of her having two litters of kittens.

Living 14 years is not normally miraculous for a domestic cat, but it is indeed for one who has lived with chronic renal failure through at least 7 of those years. Despite battling this condition for half of her life, she has managed to live well, and along the way she has made lots of friends.

By all accounts Lulu was a timid cat for many years, easily startled by noises, hiding from strangers, often cautious even of her own caretaker coming home with a thick winter coat on. When relaxed, however, she was remarkably sweet and affectionate, and loved giving people head-butts and body-rubs in return for chin-scratches and tummy-strokes. She wasn’t very good at keeping secret her fondness for being the center of attention.

Relocating to an apartment near Coolidge Corner last summer seemed to peel away a few layers of shyness. It might have been the chaos and commotion of moving, or perhaps her newfound spot by the window that offered a view of the busy street below, full of people and dogs and trucks. She picked up a habit of waiting at the door for people to return, and would even greet guests, becoming one of the household’s main attractions for visitors.

Though generally not a very active cat, she would eagerly scratch at the sofa, and chase mice, or more often mice-like objects, despite her lack of front claws. In the early morning and at night, she would find curious resting places atop sleeping people, usually on their chests or in nestled in the smalls of their backs. She sometimes groomed, but didn’t produce any hairballs. She loved catnip: once, to a fault.

A couple weeks ago, she started to refuse food, and by this time had been losing weight at a concerning rate. A visit to the vet revealed that her blood toxicity levels were severely elevated due to renal failure.

After five nights in the critical care unit, she regained an appetite and more normal blood toxicity levels. But the following week they rocketed back up, even amongst a cocktail of medications, and it became clear that no algorithm of drugs or treatments would be able to return her to a fair quality of life.

This week she had been meowing once every morning, but today we found her purring instead, for the first time in a while. Her daily subcutaneous fluids were administered, followed by some spoon-fed food. No oral medicine, which she greatly disliked.

For most of the day she laid on the bed, occasionally watching birds perched on the budding tree outside the window. Though visibly ailing, she didn’t evidence the immense pain that her blood levels would imply, and seemed calm and comfortable. I played her some Bach, and her favorite Godowsky. She did meow, as usual just once, upon waking from an afternoon nap basking in the sun. Despite being too weak to make a round-trip to the litter, she finished nearly a can and a half of her recent preference of “Marbella Paella,” and even groomed her paws and face. To the end she enjoyed having her chin scratched.

She was peaceful at a quarter before sundown, when the vet arrived. At 7:20 she drew her last breaths, relaxed, accompanied by warm friends to see her off. It is a lovely spring evening.

We will miss you dearly, Lulu.

In Memoriam, March 25, 2010.