Lucy (at right) with Gimpy
In a house full of soft-cushioned places to nap, Lucy can most often be found in the bathroom, curled up on the cold, hard floor in the narrow space behind the toilet. Back there, in the deep shadow of the porcelain throne, she's barely noticeable unless one is looking specifically for her. She isn't visible at all from the doorway.
I forget that Lucy likes to sleep there--and that she is a sound sleeper. I go in there with one thought in mind, close the door behind me, take three steps, turn around and take a seat. Just as I get down to business, Lucy, suddenly awakened, darts out of her lair, skirts my feet and scurries across the floor like the Godzilla of all cockroaches, her tail waving like an antenna except that it's on the wrong end of her forward motion. She doesn't stop until she reaches the door, where she turns around and looks at me for the first time. Only then does my heart rate begin a slow descent back to normal. I imagine that's when Lucy's does, too.