She pounces around on all fours, climbing up her scratching post; she is the queen of the house. And explosion of gray, light, dark and light gray spots fan out across her body. Twelve years old she is now, and the only pet we’ve been able to keep track of.
Her fur is short but soft, and her eyes are big and round. You can get lost starring into a cats eyes, I know I have. She’s everything to me. When I’m upset and crying she lies with me. Due to her age she’s not as playful as she used to be, but rare occasions she will get bursts of energy and chases me around the house. She’ll come to me when I call her name or by snapping my fingers. When she wants something from me, she will continuously begin to meow at me so I follow her.
I remember the day I first got her; it was a week after my seventh birthday. When I first laid eyes on my future companion, I instantly fell in love. I wanted to name her Oreo, because at the time she was only black and white; I was scared she would have more colors, as she got older so I settled on cookie. She was a lot smaller than she is now. My sister also got a cat that day, cookies sister, which she named Tigger. Sadly one night, about eight years later, Tigger never came home.
Cookie is big, and tends to act like a spoiled brat at times. She’s not very tolerant of our other animals; if they approach her, shell hiss and swing her beastly claws at their face.
Cookie is my cat, but she’s also my best friend. I call to her when I need her and she will come to me, I know I can tell her anything because shes a cant and wont be able to tell anyone. I dread the day that she will no longer be meowing by my side.