In Memorial: Snookie

October 1 , 2005

In Memorial:
SNOOKIE

? - 2005

©2005 James Hilston

Snookie was one of the most awesome cats I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. He had a terrific personality. He was curious and playful. He was affectionate and attentive. He belonged to our neighbors, Hank and Rita. But in some sense, he belonged to the neighborhood, visiting various homes regularly, enjoying treats and keeping the neighborhood free from nomad rodents. He was clearly an outside cat. In the winter, his fur would get so thick.

Come the spring, Snookie would begin to leave his trophies for us to see (or find). A chipmunk carcass here; an exploded bird there. He was a predator par excellence. He showed pride in his work, and we were proud of him. I have videotape of Snookie stalking and terrorizing a field mouse on my patio.

Whenever Snookie would hear the sound of the children outside playing, he would pay us a visit. The kids just loved him and he played so well with them, chasing long flexible branches as the kids would whip them about. Snookie loved my daughter especially. I would glance out through my front door to see her sitting in the grass, reading a book. Upon further inspection I would see Snookie sleeping contentedly on her crossed legs while she slowly stroked his belly or head.

We never let him in our house because of Ethan's pet allergy, but we'd be sitting on our living room sofa, watching TV (television) or just chatting, when all of a sudden, we'd catch an orange blur in our peripheral vision. It would be Snookie, who saw us sitting on the sofa and decided to jump up on the outside window ledge to join us. Kinda. Tabitha would go over and open the glass and pet him through the screen as Snookie pushed his body up against it.

When we heard from Rita that Snookie died, Laura asked me to tell Tabitha. We called her over to us. Tabitha saw us whispering to each other and came up to us with a sort of "what?" expression on her face.

"Honey, your mother was talking to Mrs. Miller next door."

Tabitha looked at Laura; then at me.

"Snookie died, honey," I said.

She didn't say anything. She just nodded.

"Mrs. Miller said Snookie had heart problems. One day, he just laid down on their kitchen floor and he died," I said with a shrug and a shake of my head.

She just nodded again, and then went back to playing, doing whatever she was doing before we called her. I looked at Laura, and she was wiping tears from her eyes. "Snookie made me like cats," Laura said, who never liked cats before.

Here's an entry from my handwritten journal from April 28, 2004:

April 28, 2004. Looking out through the window of my den: Snookie must have heard the children playing. I see him come trotting through the yard to be with Ethan and Tabitha while they swing on the swing set. The kids notice Snookie coming across the yard, so they jump off their swings in unison and run to meet him. Snookie stops just before they meet, mid-yard, and Tabitha gently picks him up. His affection and trust are evident in the relaxed sway of his tail. Snuggling her cheek into his fur, she carries him over to the swing set and sets him down on the flat, top part of the sliding board. He seems to know the drill. He steps gingerly upon the galvanized steel slide, balances his weight, and then carefully lies down. He shifts slightly to make himself more comfortable. His eyes, heavy with cat sleep, gradually close as the kids go back to their swinging.

We all loved Snookie. We miss him terribly.