Cookie

I remember it was a midsummer day in New Hampshire, The sky was clear and we were on our way to the beach. It was one of the few trips we had gone on as a "family" including myself, my brother Tommy, Mom and her boyfriend Eddie. The first stop of the day was to an open house for prebuilt modular homes. Mom thought it would be fun to look around for a cheap new house despite the fact we wouldn't ever be able to afford one. I understood why she wanted to keep her hopes up though, our house was a beaten down, single wide trailer with plastic sheeted windows and multiple holes in the roof. Locals and family friends had named it "The Hippie Shack".

There were six different model homes set up for everyone to walk through. Tommy and I were young and bored. I was just turning 12 that year and he was only 8, we loved the idea of finding a new home but we both knew this was just "fun" for Mom and Eddie and there wasn't any real hope in this excursion. As we walked through the third home Tommy heard a noise in the bathroom, a very faint mew. He called me over to listen with him and search for the source of the little cry, we looked in every nook, cranny and cupboard but the cries were too few and far between to pinpoint where this little critter was hiding, or stuck. Then, while we were on our hands and knees, we heard it right next to us. The cry was coming from underneath the bathtub.

Tommy and I ran over to tell Mom and the tour guide about our discovery hoping that they would jump into action to help this poor defenseless creature in the wall. Instead the tour guide seemed relieved and told us that a few days earlier there was a chorus of cries and he was glad they finally shut up. Tommy and I were very upset to hear this and begged Mom and the tour guide to let us try to find a way under the house. The tour guide wasn't a fan of the idea but Mom didn't care as long as we didn't make a mess. Without any regard to the guide's opinion we ran around the house to find an entrance to the crawlspace under the modular home. Tommy was the one who found a small gap in the lattice but he was young, it was dark and he was too scared to go in himself. I could hear the cries from the gap and slipped under the house. Army crawling my way closer to the mewing I looked for holes in the floor above me. Then I saw the tiny golden eyes peeking down at me. We startled each other and she scurried back into the hole under the bathtub crying even louder than before. I was nervous to reach up into the hole but I told myself she was just a tiny kitten, the worst that could happen is I get a little scratch or bite. I was wrong.

I reached my arm far back into the hole feeling around for fur, unfortunately I found lots of fur covering small bony masses. The first two kittens I pulled out were stiff and long dead, they were tiny and had clearly never opened their eyes. I was overcome with sadness and panic at this discovery, these poor kitties were crying days earlier for help but no one came to their rescue and they died a terrible slow death. I reached up and found another dead kitten, this one had died more recently and had not yet become stiff with rigor mortis. I couldn't reach far enough back to where the last kitten hid, crying. I pulled my arm out and decided to wait and see if curiosity would draw her back to the opening of the hole. Only a couple minutes later I saw the little gold eyes peek over the edge and I rushed to grab the little one before she could dart back out of my reach. She was tiny and not very fast, I got a hold of her scruff between my thumb and finger and pulled her out of the floor.

She was a feisty little thing hissing and spitting at me while I crawled out from under the house. In the sun I could see how tiny and frail she really was, nothing she did could actually hurt me so I cupped her in my hand and held her to my chest. The hissing, spitting and crying slowly stopped as she realized I was no threat to her. Tommy was horrified by my story of the dead kittens but was also proud that I was brave enough to save the last one.

Together we found Mom and Eddie. They awed at the little kitten and praised me for saving her. Mom allowed me to keep her but we were still going to the beach and having a family day. In the car I decided to name her Cookie because her black and white coat reminded me of an Oreo cookie but 12 year old me felt that Oreo was a boys name. We had determined that she was probably around 4 weeks old because her eyes and ears were open but her teeth looked like they hadn't fully come in.

Cookie's first meal with us, probably her first solid food ever, was a small bowl of milk from McDonalds and a chewed up piece of a mc chicken patty. I had never seen such a ravenous creature in my life! Cookie climbed on top of the food, claws splayed, and gobbled up every piece of chicken I placed in front of her. If she felt I was getting in the way she would hiss and spit at me defending that chicken with all the energy she had in her little bony body. After eating her fill she curled up in my hands and fell into a deep sleep. When we got to the beach Cookie was wide eyed and full of curiosity. The only thing she had known was a small dark hole but now the world was huge and full of so many amazing things. She was the most fearless little thing looking out at the waves and the people from the safety of my arms.

I was her new momma, I was the food giver and the protector. Cookie followed me everywhere, whenever I left the house she would join me in her mini harness, peeking out of my backpack. We would go hiking, biking and four wheeling together. At the end of the day her favorite place to sleep was on my chest or curled up in the crook of my neck. She was my focus in life, she was my best friend.

Life wasn't very easy for us growing up. Both of my parents became severe alcoholics after their divorce and did the bare minimum when it came to parenting. My mother was an emotionally abusive drunk who pointed out every little flaw in me to make herself feel better and my dad, though a friendly drunk, would often drink while taking pain killers and end up almost catatonic by the end of each day. My mothers boyfriend was nicknamed "Crackhead Eddie" and was so "active" in the community that even my classmates called him that. It wasn't uncommon for our shanty of a house to be filled with toothless, itching addicts passed out on the floor or in the bathtub. In the six years we lived with Eddie, my brother and I witnessed too many terrible things. Eddie would strangle my mother up against the wall on a regular basis. We used to cry and fight with Eddie to try to save her but after the first year we stopped. We were young and it was too hard to keep fighting, Mom always ended up punching Eddie in the head until he let go and we never made any progress in stopping the impending violence, so we stopped trying. I knew this lifestyle wasn't right and tried my very best to make sure Tommy understood that too. We escaped into the woods or into town most days, catching frogs, playing with our friends, building forts and focusing on anything and everything positive in life. We dreaded going home at the end of the day.

Every other weekend we got to go visit our Dad in Massachusetts and take a break from the violence and stress of home. In the beginning my father would always try to make the weekend special by planning a camping trip, cook out or pizza party. Though he was always drunk he was also always smiling and laughing with us, playing video games with my brother or painting ceramic sculptures with me. Dad wanted nothing more than to be our best friend but because of that he had a hard time being a good parent. He knew we were in a terrible environment at Mom's but we always told him we wanted to stay with mom because our friends and everything we loved was up in New Hampshire. Instead of stepping in, he let us stay and just drank his feelings away. By the time I was 12 my dad's addictions had gotten the best of him and he could no longer afford the cost or energy of our weekend plans. Our weekends with Dad ended up excluding Dad more and more often as he passed out earlier each day.

I couldn't have found Cookie at a more perfect time in my life. Tommy had started hanging out with his friends more and I was often left walking around town on my own while my friends were off at summer camp. While I cared for Cookie, she cared for me and gave me the companionship and love that I craved. When I was feeling alone all I needed to do was call her name and she would come running, rubbing up against my leg as a friendly reminder that she loved and cared about me. She was my cat, no doubt. She was moody to everyone else, acted like she was queen of the house and would hiss at almost anyone else who tried to pet her, including my mom.

When Cookie was around one year old she managed to become pregnant without anyone knowing. She didn't really gain much weight and there were no clear signs that hinted to us that she could possibly be pregnant. She and I were so confused on the day she gave birth. Cookie was usually such a quiet cat but that day she started crying at me and jumping on and off my lap frantically. I picked her up and looked her over, checking in between her toes and in her ears for any possible injury but she seemed fine physically. She clearly wanted me to follow her into my bedroom, our safe space, so I did. As soon as I sat on my bed Cookie jumped up next to me, lay down and screamed as she pushed out the first half of her first and only kitten. I panicked for a second and then started helping Cookie. I got the kitten out and breathing in no time but Cookie was confused and when I tried to get the kitten to suckle she wanted nothing to do with it. I build a little whelping box in my bedroom out of an old dresser drawer and some towels. I was able to convince Cookie to stay in the box with her kitten for the first couple days but as she recovered from the birthing process she lost interest in her baby entirely. I couldn't blame her, she was raised by me and hadn't experienced a loving cat mom so she had no idea what to do for this little girl of hers. This experience made my relationship with Cookie much stronger. It reinforced her understanding that I would always help her whenever she was in need.

Cookie would watch me as I bottle fed her baby. We named her Poofy due to her extremely long fur that stood out in all directions as if she had stuck her tail into an electrical socket. She was the largest kitten any of us had ever seen. Cookie was jealous of the attention given to Poof and would often hiss at her in anger. Feeling bad for Cookie, I gave Poof to my brother when she was old enough to eat solid food. Not too long after, we got Cookie spayed so we wouldn't have any more surprise kittens.

We moved from location to location and my parents alcoholism became worse and worse. My mom left Eddie and we moved into a beautiful house with her new boyfriend Mike but he was also an alcoholic. With the increase in her drinking my mom went from only being emotionally abusive to also being physically abusive, screaming insults in my face, locking me in closets and boxing with my brother. All of the police in the area knew my mom by name and most of them had fought with her on at least one occasion. I locked myself in my room whenever I was home and spent my time crafting with Cookie by my side, batting at my pencils and paint brushes. She was always happy to see me, my constant love, She never let me down.

When I turned 17 I got emancipated from my mom and moved in with my friend's family. I brought Cookie of course, she was my only true family at that point in my life. Life with the O'Brien family was much quieter and way more family oriented than I had ever experienced before. Both Cookie and I were very comfortable there. Cookie got lazy and fat. She spent most of her days curled up in my papasan chair or on the fuzzy blanket on my bed, purring and sleeping the day away. My grades got better in school and I found out what it was like to be part of a normal family. This move was one of the best decisions of my life. Though I felt guilty leaving my brother behind, my leaving was ultimately what pushed my mom to become sober. I enjoyed being part of a big family and appreciated everything that the O'Briens did for me but, after a year of my Mom being sober I decided to give her a second chance and moved back in. Cookie was surprisingly okay with moving back. She had calmed down a lot during the past year, no longer hissed at anyone, allowed anyone to cuddle her and was actually happy to see Poof and my moms cat Fuzz.

Mom being sober was completely new for me, she was a different person and for the first time in my life she actually tried to have a relationship with me. Life seemed to finally be turning around for the better. Mom and I started thrift shopping together and doing crafts on a regular basis, she helped me apply and get into New Hampshire Institute of Art and supported my crazy tarantula breeding endeavor. Around the same time my Father gave a shot at becoming sober as well and had decided to make amends with me by buying me a spot on my grandmothers vacation to Ireland and England. Cookie was almost seven now and was turning a little grey on the nose. She didn't follow me around anymore, instead I would often see her and Fuzz out chasing the bugs in the front lawn or sun bathing with Poof on the front porch. Though her time was now mostly spent with her kitty friends, she still spent every night curled up on top of me and every morning I woke up to her blinking at me and smiling.

I remember the day I left for Ireland. I was nervous about leaving for so long and kept getting choked up saying my goodbyes to everyone in the house. As I loaded my bags into the car I noticed Cookie and Fuzz laying on their favorite bench in the sun. I walked over and gave Fuzz a tussle on the head before picking up Cookie and giving her a loving squeeze, kissing her forehead like I had always done since she was a little kitten. After a few moments, I put her down, pet her head and explained to her that I was going away for a little bit but I promised everything would be okay and I would be back before she knew it. She got one more kiss on the forehead before I got in the car and left for my two week vacation.

That was the last time I saw Cookie.

When I got back from my trip I knew there was something wrong. Something about how everyone was acting in the car on our way back from the airport. No one was excited to hear my stories, they seemed to have something else on their minds. I shrugged it off and out loud said "I can't wait to see my Cookie baby..." Then my brother started to cry. In an instant my heart sank. I knew something had happened, tears welled up in my eyes. "What? What happened to Cookie?". Through tears my mom told me that only a few days after I left Cookie and Fuzz had gone missing. A couple days later there was a fisher cat in the back yard and no one had seen them since. I sobbed the whole ride home, blaming myself, wishing I had never left.

If it wasn't for Cookie being by my side and loving me unconditionally, I don't know if I could have stayed strong during those years of my life. Whenever I was feeling weak, sad and alone she would prance on over and give me a little, loving forehead boop as if to say "everything will be okay mum, I love you bunches". She would easily cope with changes as long as she had my lap to sleep in. I felt stronger with her by my side, together there was nothing that could bring us down, we would take care of each other through thick and thin. I like to think that Cookie moved on with Fuzz to a new home, That her job caring for me was done now and she had her own adventure to go on. I know that isn't what happened but I like the thought.

I spent a long time mourning the loss of my best friend. I found peace in the fact that Cookie wasn't alone when she left and I wrote a poem for both Cookie and Fuzz. I titled it Nip, Friends and Toy.

Nip, Friends and Toy

Two cats they play in years celebration

Hopping and flipping in the yard

Another green summers day

The dandelions taste yucky but so fun to beat

Don't hurt the bees, be gentile, they sting

Fluffy yellow tails are prey

Tall grass and flowers hold much excitement and fun

But sometimes an old cat will wonder

If scared, with pal by side

In search of the fun place, fields of nip, friends and toy

Into the dark wood they follow, eyes watching

Unknown to the challenge ahead

Among rodents and reptiles roams a foe, with canine idea

Fur up and teeth in view, old friends fight together

This battle is the gateway

Though they no longer live, they did not fail

Together they reached that place of joy

A land of nip, friends and toy

Two cats they play in eternal celebration

Pouncing and purring in the sun

Forever by the others side