Lucifer came into our lives when we were caring for a baker's dozen of feral cats in our neighborhood. She was the terror of the group, disliked and outcast for being a bully. We had to put three feeding stations out and Lucifer would try to guard them all from the other cats, but there was just one of her and twelve of them. We had an old, blind dog too. On the night the dog passed away, Lucifer decided she belonged to us. She casually strolled into the house as we took our beloved dog's body out to be buried on the family farm.

We had eleven great years with her. Not only did she end up being a lovely house cat, she put up with three more dogs and a little boy. The boy, she eventually decided, was one of her favorites. Lucifer would rank your worthiness based on the comfort of your lap and the length of your fingernails (the longer, the better). She liked to go outside at night and then bang loudly on the door to be let back in so she could settle down in a lap and make biscuits until she feel asleep. She tangled with a racoon on more than one occasion and lived to tell the tale. "Shoulda seen the other guy," she seemed to say as she nursed a racoon bite.

Although we always joked about how terrible she was and what a menace to the neighborhood, we truly loved her. Every night, we all still wait for that knock at the door that will never come again.