Cook

 This week, we lost our cook.

Actually, she was a kitchen assistant.

I didn't like having her around when I was pouring hot water out of a pot of pasta. She always managed to be exactly where she shouldn't have been.

She lived with us. One of her other duties was to guard my clothes when I changed into my swimsuit and went swimming.

She loved welcoming guests. She was always there before I had a chance to greet them myself. Some regular guests brought little presents – mostly for her. She was beside herself with joy.

She was always happy to see our cleaning lady, who regularly brought her some little treat.

She was a little on the plump side, loved food, was always in a good mood and very curious.

She communicated with her eyes. And those eyes spoke volumes.

She was very intelligent and simply didn't listen. She was, in short, Oost-Indisch doof (a Dutch expression referring to the inhabitants of the former Dutch East Indies – meaning someone who hears only what they want to hear).

We didn't take her with us on long journeys. Instead, we treated her to a hotel stay in the historic town of Litomyšl. She liked it there very much.

My husband secretly adored her. Probably more than he adored me. But I wasn't jealous.

From her papers, we learnt,  that she was of noble descent.

And, believe it or not – her grandfather was Russian.

Her name was Ebony Ell. That was the name she was given at birth.

When she first came to us eight years ago, we called her Crocodile.

She slept with us from the very beginning and tested her new little teeth on us. Especially at night, when we were asleep.

I called her My little Princess or Darling.

My husband called her Doprdelko (Little Bugger) and, when we had visitors, Little Prostitute.

Officially, she was Angie.

And we called her Angíku.

Over the last few months, I started  losing weight, and so was Angie. In three months, she lost 25% of her body weight.

Unfortunately, it turned out that her long-term kidney disease was rapidly getting worse.

There was nothing even the vet could do for her anymore.

I still think about her all the time.

She isn't coming back.

Elle ne viendra pas ce soir
Et mon cœur s'habille de noir.

And one day when you are gone,
You know that life will still go on.