I threw out a lot of butter. You know how you sometimes need to soften the butter before baking? I would put it in a covered butter dish, lay a dishtowel over it and then put bowls and pots around the edges. Then I would get distracted and return to the kitchen to see an impossibly furry tail under the dish towel and the sounds of happy lip-smacking.
I'd use my stern, Darth Vader voice, "Luuuuuuuce,,,"
And this little binky-face would look at me - whiskers all glistening from butter crumbs and a nose and lips moistened by fat.
I learned to lock up the butter in the china cabinet.
I threw out flour, sugar, cornstarch and salt. And turned the chairs around effectively keeping Luce in jail.
He enjoyed caviar.
And he never got terribly big. So you always had to check the back of the dishwasher before you closed it.
And he got away with every mischievous thing a cat can do - because he made everyone smile.
He was front and center for rehearsals in my home. And if an actor suddenly darted down - we knew that actor was rubbing Luce's tummy.
Luce learned from Pip how to lay on my laptop and become the quintessential "writer's block."
And even at 22 months - his fur and whiskers pointed in many directions giving him the appearance of Einstein.
I'm glad he had his butter and caviar escapades. My daughter posted, "You think you get years. But sometimes you get months. And in those months they become family." And if 20 months ago, I knew the outcome - if 20 months ago - I knew I would only get 20 months and then there would be pieces of my heart a bit crumbly and wobbly - I'd do it all over again. I'd bring little "wild-boy-found-in-the-woods" into our home (and hearts) because living with Luce was a confection. Living with Luce was monkeyshine and mayhem. Living with Luce was adventures in the sand - pieces of seashells from other places and other times. Living with Luce was love.