From Mr. Cooks' perspective I imagine this is what he would say
Hello, my friends. It's me—Mr. Cook.
Some of you knew me as Cookie, and some of you knew me as the little garden gnome who appeared in the yard back in 2007.
I remember those early days clearly: hiding in the garden, watching from behind the leaves, waiting for the moments when you'd come outside.
I was shy then, unsure, tired from traveling, with matted fur and worn paws. But I knew kindness when I saw it. And I knew you were safe.
Every time you sat on the patio, I came out a little closer. You talked to me. You fed me. And slowly, I realized that I had found my place.
I heard you debating my name — Oreo was mentioned, but I didn't feel like an Oreo..
When you noticed my tuxedo coat, sitting proudly like a gentleman, I felt seen. "Mr. Cook," you said. Yes. That fit. And Cookie... well, that one always made me purr.
I know you didn't plan on another cat. But Al promised he'd look after me, and truthfully, I had already chosen you. Midnight welcomed me right away. Peachy took a little longer, but she warmed up—how could she not? I've always been a calm, easy-going fellow.
Some of my favorite memories were riding with Al to Tim Hortons, perched on his lap, listening to the girls say how cute I was. I liked the attention—even if I pretended to be dignified about it.
I want you to know this: the moment I walked out of that garden and into your life, I found home. You gave me warmth, safety, a family, and love. Peachy and Midnight went ahead of me, and now I've joined them. I'm with them again, whole and peaceful.
Please don't be sad for too long. My life with you was good—better than I ever could have imagined when I was that scruffy little garden gnome. I will always be grateful.
Thank you for every meal, every gentle touch, every soft word, every moment. I'll be watching over you, still wearing my tuxedo, still your loyal butler.
With love, Mr. Cook / Cookie
Mr. Cook first appeared at my home in Virgil in 2007. He would hide in the garden, peeking out only when food was offered, slowly building the confidence to come closer as we sat on the patio. My friend Marie called him “the garden gnome,” because without fail, he would appear whenever we were outside. He was skinny, with matted fur, and I soon began feeding him.
One evening, while Al and I were out on the patio, our little garden gnome approached us again—hopeful eyes asking if we had something for him to eat. At first, we considered the name Oreo for his black-and-white markings, but it didn’t seem quite right. As we talked, I noticed how he sat so proudly, almost like he was wearing a tuxedo with a white bow tie. He reminded me of a butler—and so his official name became Mr. Cook, with Cookie as his nickname.
Although I hadn’t planned on taking in another cat (already having two who had adopted me), Al promised that Mr. Cook would be his cat—he would take care of him, and Mr. Cook would simply live with me, Peachy, and Midnight.
Mr. Cook was a gentle, kind soul. Once we were able to bring him into the house, he quickly became close friends with Midnight. Peachy wasn’t thrilled about another cat, but she accepted him easily enough; he was simply too calm and good-natured to resist. His fur was prone to matting, and when he first adopted us, his coat was in rough shape and his paws were worn, as though he had traveled far before finding us.
Al often took him along to Tim Hortons, where Mr. Cook would ride on his lap and charm the staff, who always commented on how cute he was.
Like all pets who become part of a family, Mr. Cook brought his own quiet, steady magic into our home. His calm and cool presence was a comfort, a joy, and a constant companion. He will be deeply and lovingly missed.
