by 
Cookie and Abigail
A good ol’ cat shuffled off this mortal coil, or this small piece of it, earlier this month. Cookie (possibly not his name then) was a local personality for the better part of two decades, just about as long as we’ve been back in Amarillo. His origin is not clear. He belonged to a neighbor living in Quadrille Park across the street until the man passed away and was a frequent visitor to SA. When Zfam moved to Quadrille Park, they brought with them their two cats (and two dogs), one of which was a tuxedo cat like Cookie, named Elmo. Before we got to know Cookie, Joyce was outside and saw what she thought was Elmo. She began talking to him in a companiable sort of way until she realized the cat wasn’t Elmo. Cookie was allowed by his owner to come and go as he pleased, and he would wander across the street frequently. I usually try to discourage stray cats I encounter on the place, often chunking a twig, tennis ball, or whatever else comes to hand at them but I never did that with Cookie. Maybe that was because he seemed friendly.
His man died some 10 years ago and the man’s widow, who never liked Cookie, possibly she simply didn’t like cats in general, didn’t want to keep him. She and Joyce were acquainted, having visited over the backyard fence, in a manner of speaking. The lady had given Cookie to someone, but that person had a dog, and they didn’t get along. Cookie would take no prisoners when it came to dogs, no matter the size. The widow retook possession of Cookie and was considering her options when Joyce entered the picture. We brought four cats with us from Garland, two of ours and two of Kari’s, but at that time only Sydney was left, one having succumbed to some malady and the other two having been murdered by dogs one night. That left Sydney as the only shop cat.
Joyce agreed to take Cookie, or Orio as I think he was called by the widow’s husband. The lady gave Joyce Cookie’s cat condo, which we put on our front porch because we already had one in the shop, plus whatever cat food she had left. She was moving and thus motivated to unload cat and cat stuff. Cookie was immediately at home in the shop and he and Sydney tolerated each other. Sydney died several years ago and Cookie was the sole shop cat until his demise.
Several years ago I chanced to be in the kitchen when I saw three dogs of the pit bull variety suddenly appear down by the chicken yard. There were no chickens by that time, but Cookie usually hung around that area and when I saw the dogs, I saw Cookie on top of the chicken house and the dogs circling around it trying to get at him. I jumped into my boots, grabbed a baseball bat and galloped in the direction of the chicken yard. By then Cookie must have jumped down from the safety of the chicken house roof, no doubt trying to improve his position, which was a mistake. I saw him and one of the dogs going at it in just blur of teeth and claws. Cookie was holding his own but the other two dogs were on the other side of the chicken house and would have joined the fray in no time. I was moving a top speed and bellowing my war cry, hoping I could get there before the other dogs entered the battle. Cookie would have stood no chance against all three, but the dogs heard me and saw me coming and chose the better part of valor. The moment the dog attacking Cookie heard me and paused, Cookie was up a tree in a flash, and I was left to instruct the dogs with my bat. My blood was up, and I so wanted to get in among them, but the rascals ran like spotted apes, and I never got close enough to administer a soothing reproach.
Like all cats, Cookie could be uncooperative, refusing to go into the shop in the evening which upset Joyce, and me in turn. He frequently had stomach problems and would decorate the shop floor and the pickup with his regurgitations. But he was a pretty good cat, all in all, and will be missed.
We took care of business in Dallas and enjoyed some time with family in the area. We celebrated Sophia’s birthday early since we would head home before the actual date. John, Kathryn and Devon paid us a visit, so we got to catch up with them. And we managed to get back home before the bomb cyclone hit, which we were grateful for. One doesn’t want to be travelling with the temperature hovering around zero and 50+ MPH wind gusts complicating things. Beastly as the arctic blast was, the weather turned balmier, which is not to say balmy, within just a few days and, while a little windy at times, winds out of the south this time, it has been acceptable for late December.
We enjoyed a pleasant and restful Christmas and will no doubt enjoy a similar New Year’s Eve celebration, sans presents. We have much to be thankful for.