|
 |
|
| Name: |
Cooper
|
Age: |
Fourteen years old
|
| Gender: |
Male
|
Kind: |
Orange tabby
|
| Home: |
Cobb, California, USA |
The
tall man and I rode in the truck for a long way, up a dark mountain
and through the woods. Where we are going, he said, the lady is very sad
because her cat died and she needs you. I wasn't sure about that but
figured I'd do my best. Finally, we pulled up at a house beneath a lot
of pine trees. It was snowing, so the tall man tucked me inside his coat
and knocked on the door.
Cooper entered my life just before midnight on Christmas Eve, a
bright-eyed orange and white kitten face poking out of my friend's
jacket. I must have performed about five double-takes all the way across
the kitchen. A short while later, still stunned, I sat with my friend as
we watched the exuberant kitten bounce around the house like a cat pogo
stick. I remember thinking, it's too soon, I'm not ready...but I was
already enchanted. "It's nice here! Got any tuna fish?"
That was fourteen years ago and we've had just the best time together.
Cooper is...well, it would take a book. He's the most interesting cat I've
known. Nothing escapes his notice. He is always aware, observant and
engaged (except, of course, when napping). Cooper is not the kind of cat
to sit still on one's lap for long, nonetheless he's quite the cuddler.
He enjoys being held as we walk around the house investigating things,
checking out the spice drawer, opening cupboards, turning off lights,
swatting at moths on the other side of the window. He loves to stretch
over backwards in my arms and give things an upside-down pat. Brushing
is a huge ritual at our house, and no wonder-Cooper's fur is as soft and
silky as a rabbit's and it's a joy to stroke him. "A little more around
the chin, thanks."
Nothing on the desk is safe. Cat brush, treat jar, pens, books, even the
telephone-all end up on the floor if I don't keep a watchful eye. He's
fond of stomping back and forth across the keyboard and is skilled at
locating the delete key. "llopn4444444444ikkuyih"
We play a wild game of hide-n-seek (or tag or chase me-the rules change
quickly). When I just can't seem to find him, Cooper jumps out
triumphantly, bats my legs and then scoots off to hide again. "So I'm
hiding practically in plain sight and she still can't find me! Sometimes
I don't think she's all that bright."
He is known as the Flapper because he loves to pat things, anything that
has a nice "give" to it and especially cardboard box lids. Cooper flaps
to go outside, flaps to get a cuddle, flaps to get a treat, flaps to let
me know it's just generally time for attention. "I pretty much run
things around here. The flapping thing, well, I knew she'd think that
was really cute."
Cooper is a warrior, my true protector. Once I was caught up in a tense
situation with an angry person. Cooper suddenly stepped in front of me
and gave the other party a threatening slash of the paw. Goodbye tense
situation! This year we've faced a new battle together, one I'm not sure
even my warrior cat can win. But thanks to medication, our excellent
veterinarian and Cooper's strong spirit, we're holding up well.
Every Christmas Eve, I raise a toast to the tall man who drove a long
way on a snowy night to bring me my wonderful Cooper. Best Christmas cat
ever.
|
|
|
|
|
