Caterwauling

If spirits come to me in my dreams, I don’t always remember that they’ve passed and that this visitation is a gift.

Like, I usually wake up and I’m like, I should have told xx that I love them or asked them that question.

Anyway, I was in another of my psychedelic new-moon dreams a couple hours ago. Cocoa walked in. And I KNEW this was a BIG DEAL!

Anytime Cocoa entered a room, Mom and I would say, “Everyone knows it’s Cocoa!” Yes, we thought of Slinky, as she would slink in and wait patiently for me to get my shit together. (She literally died waiting for that. Anyway.)

When I saw her in the dream, I said, “Everyone knows it’s Cocoa!”

And she smiled in her Cocoa big-smile way.

I don’t really have a comparable pic to the way she looked in the dream, as a lot of my pics were from four years ago when I nabbed her. But she’s gotten tinier and prettier since thing. The results of illness (size) and being with a Momma who loved her very much (she bloomed) and fed her good foodz.

My baby is the best baby.

I figure three visitations is probably my limit for now. I mean, not MY limit — she can come back to life and I’d be over the moon. But my professional psychic friend said we’ll try to connect with her sometime in March, to give her a little time to acclimate.

Maybe she’ll be more acclimated than I am, then. I’m right where she left me, as our beloved Taylor Swift sings.

I asked Cocoa to send me a song whenever she is ready or able.

I didn’t know what to ask for. It’s not like the 400 songs I made up to match the 400 names I have for her are breaking past any of Taylor Swift’s 10 albums in the top 10 on Billboard, Spotify and Apple.

Alas, my girl came through tonight in a spectacular way.

“Country Grammar” came on as I pulled into my compound. Mom and I love us some Nelly, so we started singing.

* Shimmy shimmy Cocoa butt *

The moment it was out of my mouth, the tears started. We sang that to her when she still lived under the Target truck.

Mom saw her first Target truck today since we lost our baby. She lost it then too.

I was already in my head so it didn’t affect me as directly.

Oh, who am I kidding. Everything affects me directly when it comes to my girl.

Thank you for “our” song, baby.

After Cocoa passed, I cleaned her litter box and put it away.

I gave her medicine to a Baltimore kitty.

I gave her little plastic lid that she liked to sleep in to Bella. Who loves it.

And I let Magic have the pillowcase that was the last thing she physically touched.

He was a dick to her, but he won’t let me wash this …

My baby didn’t have much else, other than my whole heart.

She still has two tiny Christmas trees. She didn’t want to come out of my room in the end. So I had a little pink tree and a little green one, to keep her company while I worked.

The lights burned out on both the day she left. The. Day. She. Left.

Anyway, that litter box. I had swept up and cleaned the floor, since she missed it once or twice in her final days. She always got to it. Just couldn’t get her tiny legs up into it anymore.

Cocoa was gone about two days, maybe three, when one of her brown-and-white claws appeared where her box used to be.

Now, I had shaved some of her fur off. Stole one of her white whiskers with the brown roots. Wished I had kept a discarded claw, but I always got rid of those so Mom wouldn’t step on them and get hurt.

How in the cinnamon toast fuck did Cocoa manage to FIND a rogue claw, let alone leave it for her Momma to see?

The others saying bye to their sissy …

God I hope she is the reason they are nuts. I told Cocoa to give it to them like they did to her. They worship that tiny box. As they should.

There was a pack of two catnip strawberry toys at Five Below for Valentine’s Day. Every time I looked at them, I thought, nah, I have three kiddos.

I’d found three Christmas bulb toys in a pack. And three Hocus Pocus broom toys before that. And three Peeps. You get the idea.

Eggy. We had bacon and avocado toast too.

Today I was in 5B and there was one pack of twin strawberries left.

I bought them. And cried all the way to the register, remembering that I don’t have my gray baby to go home to anymore.

I always tried to bring something home for her. Ribs. Chicken. A cheeseburger. Which, McDonald’s fucked up Cokie’s last cheeseburger. I said plain and it was covered in ketchup. Just like Olive Garden fucked up Kadie’s last fettuccine Alfredo. I am not even sure what they gave me, but I had to go back. I wasted that time. I didn’t waste that time for Cocoa. Let fuckups be fuckups.

My northern family is in town tonight. I have been looking so forward to seeing them for months. I just canceled. They don’t need the sad girl there to ruin their good time.

Of course, that leaves me to wonder if I might not see all (or any) of them again. Like, should I have sucked it up because, god, they are my long-ago-workplace family?

Got into a rip-roaring fight with Carl from the next building. He figured out that I’m the 6 a.m. community cat feeder. He is the reason I am no longer the 6 p.m. feeder. And why that gal goes later if she sees Lurch out patrolling the lot.

Get him, Cocoa.

Carl is very mad that Meatball sleeps in his bushes. And that Meatball pooped in the bushes and buried it in the sand. I said cry me a fucking river. He said he can’t keep his windows open. I said I can’t either because everyone here is a fucking chainsmoker. He said I am very nasty for not sympathizing with him. I said you are nasty for taking photos of my crotch eery time you see me (as that’s how he approached — with his camera on me).

We yelled at each other for a good 15 minutes. The cats, who had been eating, scattered. Then people started walking their ugly fucking dogs. So I scooped up all the wet food with my hands and threw it away at home. I told him those cats hate you and that’s why they must be near you. He said you know NOTHING about animals. I said I know you’re trash and so is your daughter. He said well I am not my daughter. Like WTF kind of answer is that?

He’s just a small, miserable wuss of a man. And I sincerely don’t understand why my baby had to die but Carl and every piece of shit loser asshole who has to stalk and harass me online and off is still alive. I mean, what a goddamned waste. No one will miss any of them a quarter as much as I miss my little girl. Not even an eighth, I’d bet.

Anyway it’s no fun coming home without immediately seeing Cokie behind the door. Without scooping her up and her purring louder than the pipes rattle when I wash dishes because the dishwasher doesn’t work and the walls are literally made of paper. Without cutting up a cheeseburger into a thousand little pieces because she had no toofs, and watching her gobble it like I gave her the greatest gift the land could offer.

So, no, Carl, I genuinely do not give a fuck about your stupid windows or you being mildly inconvenienced, for that matter.

Oh and he did harass the night shift, too. We’re both blonde and the same height, so he yelled at her too and said something odd to me about having this discussion with me before. Like, so your MO is basically just harassing women in the dark and taking photos of them squatting. AND you drive a child predator van with Ohio plates. Real fucking prize, there.

He must hate that we all think he’s a joke. But really, he hasn’t given us reason not to. We all sent him running and crying to his blind daddy. Who he should be spending time with, not us, right?

If only I could trade my baby’s life for Carl’s. For just about anyone’s, really.

The anger stage is real and it’s my favorite so far.

I had put in a Target order for coffee. But the only store that had any left (Dunkin, pumpkin) in January was the Greenacres store.

So, Momma and I took the ride. Armed with birdseed, because the property has a little reservoir where dozens gather.

After we fed ducks, we drove behind the store to see if there were any others who could use a beakful.

There was a gorgeous gray kitty lounging under a Target truck. I didn’t see her but Momma did. Momma said pull over and she sent me into the store for food.

I came out with Kitten Chow and a couple cans. Cocoa knew I was a friend and let me come into her space.

She gobbled everything I had to offer. I asked her if she wanted to come home with me, but she settled back into her spot.

First photo:

I promised to come feed her again. And we did … every night till April 4, 2020, when I finally succeeded in catnapping her.

Gotcha day:

We attracted at least a dozen more kiddos. And birdos who eat cat food. We came back every day for a year before some illiterate Target employee got us escorted off the premises.

Legend had it that a lady in the trailer park next door had taken on 16 cats but was ordered to stop either housing or feeding them. A man with broken English told me this, so thats all I got of Cocoa’s origin story.

Cocoa always got the first food I doled out. And when we had rotisserie chicken, mom’s job to distribute, she always gave Cocoa the most. Cokie was her little “Nibble Nibble Munchkin.”

Then Cocoa would stroll with me around the parking lot. She would sample what I gave other kitties, since they all liked different flavors and brands and I tried to accommodate who liked what.

I made it a point to never post about Cocoa on social media. I was nervous that someone crazy in that neighborhood would try to harm her. So I posted about the rest and kept my little treasure to myself.

First “us-ie”:

After I finally got my girl, I finally stopped sobbing all the way home without her.

I wasn’t in the market for a new cat. But I literally died every night when the feeding time, evening stroll and saying-bye ritual had concluded.

I enjoyed new rituals that involved baby blankets and her grooming me to sleep at night.

My little Cubbie. She didn’t even look real once she lost the stress from being outside in the heat amid the trucks and the drunks of Greenacres.

Baby bear cub:

Alas, I loved this baby so much that I never missed an opportunity to hug and kiss her.

She loved me back from day one. She purred louder than any Mustang I’ve ever driven when I would say her name or touch her.

I took her to the vet four days after I nabbed her. Can’t tell you how many thousands we would go on to spend on vet bills, or tens of thousands on specialty foods and meds. And chickies, ribbies, turkeys, cheeseburgers, etc. That child loved spices!

Moar please:

I have always worried about this child but she has always bounced back from some really bad days.

And she was an excellent road trip partner:

But last Wednesday the 24th, she refused chickie and the dark meat turkey I specially ordered for her from Sprouts. Which is as close to a red flag as you can get with her.

On Thursday, she refused the Lil Soups and Delectables and even the watery Weruva and Tiki Cat baby mousse that she had just devoured two days earlier.

So I made my final work call (to offer someone a job) at 1 and called off for the next day. I took Cocoa out to the balcony and rejoiced that she would drink water and sleep.

She never minded my presence or my Mardi Gras toes:

She had a hard 32 hours.

Every time I picked her up to hug her, she immediately nuzzled and loved on me, like always.

We spent most of Friday in the living room. She only showed energy when I hugged her.

It was like she saw death coming and fought like hell to get back to the floor, to the little plastic lid she loved to sleep in on my bed. Her claws never retracted. So she hated fabrics. She preferred the cold marble floor and Costco boxes and this lid.

Cokie’s last photo. She left me soon after:

I have a thousand more photos and a million stories to tell about the baby who made me love again. She is the reason I acquired nine others. It all started with her.

She gets to leave a legacy. I ordered her final methimazole refill two weeks ago. When I parted with the $80, something told me she wouldn’t use it. But with weather events, I wanted to have it anyway.

Well.

I asked my FB crew to DM me if they could use it. And I mailed it off to an adorable tortoise cat — same colors as Cokie — who lives in Baltimore.

I also sent foodz. My lil jabronis haven’t had an appetite since Sissy went away. And it costs too much to toss.

Baltimore kitty got his package last night. And his brother, who also has health problems, loved the food I sent.

So, my baby’s legacy lives on in more than just my broken heart.

On her way out of this world, something told me pick her up. It is your last chance.

She fought, of course. Her little headdy rested on my shoulder for a few moments but whatever came for her, came. And she was mad as hell to leave her momma.

I kept her in my arms and she quickly went limp, her adorable little bummy on my lap.

We sang all of Cocoa’s songs. I didn’t cry or lift her to look at me. I knew, just “love her out.”

I always called her my baby. But I was hers, too.

I wrapped her in her giraffe baby blankets, put her in her box lid, and put her where she used to sleep on my bed next to my head.

We have two aquamation places here. One was as rude as the other, when I called the next day. But the one I picked did a nice job and, one more annoying interaction later, I have my baby back for good.

I only had her four years. But I loved her with all I had. I always always always will.

I cried while she was alive, knowing this day would come. I just wish it hadn’t come so soon.

Even now, I say bye to her when I leave … say good morning, Totes when I wake up (she always came to the bathroom for morning scritches) … and say “night-nite, Totes” first before I say it to Momma, Bella and Magic as I fall asleep.

She will never not be first. My Momma understands. Momma callee

Md

Night-nite, Totes. Your momma loves you to the moon and to Saturn.

You weren’t just my best friend. You were my best four years.