Ode to Lui.

"God comes disguised as our Life."

-Paul D'Arcy

A blessing came into my life in a large cardboard box. 

It was January 14th, 2013, otherwise known as "Old" New Year's day in Macedonia. That blessing was a kitty by the name of Lui Makedonski. He died last week, exactly one year later on "Old" New Year's day 2014. In honor, gratitude, and awe of how a small blessing made a big impact in my life in a short time, here is my tribute:

The Story of Lui

A blessing came into my life in a large cardboard box. It was January 14th, 2013. Otherwise known as "Old" New Year's day in Macedonia. It was the beginning of my 2nd year in Peace Corps. I had just returned from a haunting weekend celebration of masked demons parading through the streets of a mountain village. I returned home to find Igorche carrying the large cardboard box into my cold living room. I couldn't imagine what was in the box. So I opened it.

My jaw dropped in shock. There huddled in one corner was a small, dirty kitten. I had waited 18 months for a kitty - for one that needed a home. And here it finally was! I beamed. The kitten was surprisingly calm, albeit curled up in the tiniest ball possible. I scooped him up and held him close. He burrowed into my red DU sweatshirt. We sat like that for four hours as Igorche explained how he had found the little rascal living ion the street near his family's shop.

My delight slowly turned to panic. Oh no! What do I use for a litter box? What do kittens eat? I called my mom.

It was January after all, and outside was covered in snow. I wouldn't make the poor thing go poddy outside. Mom told me to line a cardboard box with plastic shopping bags and fill it with shredded paper. I got to work shredding paper with a tiny pair of sewing scissors. It did the trick. The kitten knew right where to do his business. What a smart boy!

Now, what about a name? In 2007 I lived briefly in Ethiopia. The Amharic word for "lion" is ambusa, a name I decided I would use for my first pet cat should I ever have one. Fastforward six years to my little house in my little village in Macedonia on a cold, winter's day. The kitty that was snuggled into my arms was white and black and tan. He was hardly a lion. More like a snow leopard. The name didn't suit him. Darn, Ambusa was supposed to be my default.

The kitten went nameless for a couple of weeks as I waited for a name to emerge that would suit him. Just as his name was becoming "No Name", I noticed that the Louis Vuitton purse that Igorche had recently gifted to me was the same colors as my kitten. Black, white, tan. "Lui." I tried the name out (spelled simply, in Macedonian fashion). "Lui." It stuck. There is no doubt that Lui is a Macedonian cat. He loves to eat roasted red peppers, feta cheese and ajvar. Thus he was granted the surname "Makedonski" meaning Macedonian. Lui Makedonski. Done.

Lui's presence in my little house automatically lifted my mood. I had been suffering from what my Peace Corps doctor finally described as "melancholy." A mild form of depression surely caused in part by the stresses of being a stranger in a foreign land. Lui was something familiar for me. A pet. A companion. A presence. He slept on my head, demanded attention when I'd return home from work, and ultimately pulled me through my 2nd year of Peace Corps service. To Lui I am so grateful.

As my two years of service drew to an end this fall, Peace Corps sent me home for a month's leave before beginning my third year of service. I was anxious to leave Lui for a whole month, but he was cared for by my landlord and Igorche. They made sure he was fed and had lots of pets. I arrived home to Macedonia last week on the eve of "Old" New Year's. Lui was curled up on his brown blanket when I opened the door.

He looked up at me. Then his eyes grew huge and he looked as though I'd come back from the dead. He jumped up and demanded attention. Demanded to know where I'd been all that month. And then demanded mostly to be loved right then and there. We snuggled all night. He never stopped purring. The next morning, despite jet-lag, I had to head to work for the "Old" New Year's party with my colleagues and the mayor. Lui followed me out the door like he always does, and padded along behind me across the street to work. That was the last I saw of him.

Lui went missing for three days. My landlord's grandson, 11-year old Pece, was the one to find Lui's body alongside the road about 20 yards south of my house. It is likely he was poisoned - perhaps he got into rat poison or devoured a mouse that had already ingested the poison. It's the most common cause of death for village pets, along with getting hit by cars.

The average life span of a village pet has got to be no more than 6 months. Every day when i'd leave for work, I could never be certain I'd see Lui again. So I made sure to make time for him every day. To watch him and play with him and snuggle. He loved snuggling. On several occasions when I hosted up to six guests, Lui would make the rounds throughout the night ensuring EACH guest got some snuggle time. By morning he had slept with everyone.

Lui was a lover. Unconditional love for everyone (except maybe my landlady). They had a love-hate relationship. He was scared of her. I often heard her chasing him out of the garden or swearing quite loudly when she'd find his poop among her vegetable beds. I told her Lui was just trying to help out by fertilizing the plants to make them grow better. She disagreed.

We do agree that we miss him. Lui had an ever-growing list of admirers. I'm at a loss for words. I have no creative nor poignant way to wrap this up. I just can't fathom death. Where did that life energy within him go? It's so hard to see his body still and lifeless. To say I miss him is an understatement. But the grief was worth a year of life together. He was the perfect kitty for me. Intuititive. Loving. Open. Present.

To Lui!!  -Hana T.