RIP, my cranky little Cookie
|August 8, 2005 - November 25, 2012|
|Nicknames:||Cook, Cookster, Cookie Monster, Cookson, Cranky Pants|
Cookie's favourite thing was to sleep all curled up as close to me as possible. Often with me holding his paws.
Cranky, playful, affectionate, cheeky.
Cookie, you and I were meant to be. There you were, a little black and white boy who had been dumped at three weeks and raised by the girls who worked at the local pet shop.
I was between jobs, working freelance from home, and I visited you the shop every day. At first there were four kittens -- your brothers and sister -- then three, then two.. Then there was just you (named by the owner of the shop because you were such a 'smart cookie' who held his bottle with all four feet at feeding time!)
You were my first cat as an adult. My gorgeous, funny, cranky, intelligent boy.
You tolerated three new additions to our households -- first Maisie (who adored you and who you adored in turn!), then Kasper (who I know you were insanely jealous of!) and then, months after we lost our beautiful Kaspy, little Edie needed a home. She turned you into a kitten again -- chasing you around the house and prompting you to chase her.
Eveything seemed fine until Tuesday night. You started breathing a little more heavily than usual, and I started panicking.
You were such a good boy through the vet examination. Instead of your usual, angry little self, you were very good for Dr Lindy. You hid your sickness well, and nothing obvious showed up in the examination.
The attack you had last night was terrifying for you, and I'm so sorry that I couldn't get you to the vet faster. Five minute feels like a million years when I know you're scared and upset.
The idea that you had an enlarged heart and your attack was caused by a blood clot was such a shock just a year after we lost little Kasper.
My two beautiful boys, both with 'broken' hearts.
I wish so much that there was something more we could have done for you, but your chances of another attack were so high. And your poor, beautiful front legs, freezing cold and unable to function properly.
I couldn't risk you suffering another attack when I wasn't home to help you, my gorgeous boy.
I hope that you knew I was with you in your final moments. Hearing you cry as the anaesthetic took effect was awful, and I hope that it doesn't indicate that you felt any pain.
Your ashes will come home and you will be with us forever.
Rest peacefully, my sweet, grumpy little man.