She was diagnosed with heart failure in 2022, and her prognosis was six to twelve months. Always a challenging cat that had a sensitive stomach and confusion on what to use as a litter box due to her original owners de-clawing her, taking care of Cookie became my passion and my routine. Administering her daily heart medicine gave me a sense of purpose in a challenging world of grief, job instability, and inconsistent mental health. She battled heart failure for over 700 days, succumbing to her condition one month shy of two years from diagnosis. While losing Cookie was the toughest event of my life, her lack of suffering at the end following years of the best care I could give brings me comfort.

She loved bacon, chin scratches, sunny days, salmon-flavored pate wet food, Christmas ornaments with bells enclosed, and, arrogantly I add, her favorite human. Her purrs could soothe the strongest of anxiety attacks. Her trill, synchronized perfectly with her leap onto the bed, always made me laugh. She knew that me concluding an evening by telling Alexa to turn off the living room lights meant that it was time to make her way to my pillow. She would potty on the towel every single time my wife would leave one on the floor - and she knew that I would forgive her with one simple glance. When my wife would make bacon, she would plant herself right on the kitchen table and wait to be served. And when I'd go out of town, our housesitter would tell me that Cookie slept alone on the couch all evening - only for her to make her way right to my spot within minutes of me getting back home.

My heart is still unhealed from an unimaginable loss - but the memories, the smiles, and the happiness remain some of my most cherished possessions. Until we meet again, my amazing, beautiful, incredible calico kitty. <3