Trooper
Page 15
A few days later, the couple arrived and were very pleasant. To my surprise, the two cats came to us while we stood talking in the driveway. And when the wife reached down to touch Mama, the cat thankfully did not back away. In fact, both cats greeted their new humans with purrs and leg rubs.
I glanced towards the office. Sitting in the doorway, Trooper studied the transaction with no obvious emotion. I wondered how he felt about the girls’ departure. Would he be sad or relieved?
“Now they’ll have a good home,” Chi said to the couple. “A better life.”
Again, another surprise. The lady picked up each cat and placed them in the back seat of her car with no difficulty. We waved goodbye as they drove out the driveway. And then they were gone.
It all happened so fast. I wondered if the girls understood that they were on the way to a good home and a good life.
Sometimes change can happen fast and goodbyes never last long enough. I would not forget those kitties, how they led me to Trooper when he was trapped, or the look of gratitude and hope in their eyes when we first welcomed them to our yard. Had they given up while waiting in that culvert, blocked by a big cat, the same cat who later permitted them into the house so they could be warm and safe during a very cold night.
Trooper moved from the doorway. I wanted desperately to know what he was thinking. I was certain he had feelings about the departure of the girls.
Three or four days after the black cats’ relocation, Herman reported that Trooper was using the culvert pipe to pass under the narrow country road that ran along the front of our property and continued on another mile to a main highway. The cat believed he needed to investigate something on the west side of the road
“Why?” I asked the German. “Something special over there?”
Herman confessed he didn’t know.
We soon had the answer. I was standing in the office at the file cabinet when Herman’s voice came through the two-way radio.
“There’s a gold baby cat coming with Trooper.”
“What the hell is he talking about?” I said, looking at Teri.
“You know Herman,” she replied. “Just as Jim is the self-appointed newsman for the neighborhood, Herman elected himself special investigator and reporter for your property. He believes he’s competing with Trooper for the job.”
“What gold cat?” I spoke into the radio.
No answer.
I walked to the door and discovered that Herman spoke the truth. Before my eyes was a cat parade. Trooper strutted proudly by as if he had just captured something. Behind him, running to catch up, was a small golden tabby with chest and paws of snow-white fur.
Trooper sat down and looked over his shoulder as the cat, a little larger than a kitten, reached his side. Trooper tilted his head down and the small one rubbed against it. It was an odd sight. The tabby was less than a quarter of the size of Trooper.
“Troop, where did you find your friend?”
He looked at me a moment and then continued up the center of the driveway, moving towards the kitchen entrance. Once again, the gold cat struggled to keep up.
“Where did Trooper find that kitten?” Teri asked as she joined my side.
“I don’t know,” I answered. “I didn’t see anyone down at the road.”
“He’s a cute little cat,” she said. “Must belong to someone in the area.”
“Yeah. Unless someone dropped it off.”
“You mean, like the black cats?”
“I hope not. We’ll ask around. That cat couldn’t have traveled far. He’s too young.”
“Johnson! Please come to the kitchen!” came my wife’s voice broke through on the radio. “Yellow kitten in here with Trooper!”
“Seems we have a Trooper tracking system!” Teri joked.
I radioed back to Chi, “What are the cats doing?”
“Yellow cat is eating Trooper’s food.” she answered.
“What’s Trooper doing?”
“He’s just sitting and watching yellow cat eat.”
Teri and I glanced at one another for a second without speaking. We both surely had questions but there was no time to discuss them.
It was time for me to investigate. I quickly reached the kitchen to find Chi standing and watching the gold cat, who was enjoying a snack of dry food.
“Kitten must be very important,” she said. “Trooper is letting him eat his food!”
“Must be. Trooper brought him all the way up here to feed him.”
“He is so cute. Big eyes. Lots of expression. Where did yellow cat come from?” she asked, puzzled.
“No idea. Trooper must have found him somewhere in the desert.”
Trooper moved into the living room, followed by the tabby. It seemed that Trooper was going to introduce his new friend to his favorite couch. Trooper jumped on the couch and curled up in the corner.
The yellow cat began to meow and attempted to join Trooper, but he was unable to reach that height. He tried again, and toppled backward. Finally he gave up and fell asleep next to the couch.
“What do we do now?” Chi asked. “Two black cats leave, so your cat brings home a gold baby!”
“Well, for now, let’s let them rest. Trooper has been treating that kitten like he was his little brother. But they sure look different.”
“That’s what I’ll call him,” Chi said.
“What?”
“Let’s call him Little Brother, until we find his owner.”
“And if there is no owner to be found?”
“Then . . . we’ll let Trooper decide if he can stay.”
“I think Trooper has already made that decision.”
CHAPTER 18
Mystery Solved
“I have studied philosophers and many cats. The wisdom of cats is infinitely superior.”
Hippolyte Taire
“LOOK AT THOSE FUNNY CATS,” Teri said as she stood at the office window. Her attention was focused on something a dozen or so feet away in the desert.
I joined her and began to laugh.
“Oh, Trooper is introducing Little Brother to a cactus flower. That’s all,” I said.
“They’ve been at that cactus for a few minutes,” she noted. “I first thought they had some animal spotted in there. Now I see it’s the flowers that have their attention. Those beautiful magenta blossoms must have attracted Trooper. Is the cactus a beaver tail or prickly pear?”
“Hard to tell from here. The beaver tail is a type of prickly pear. So, either name is correct, I guess.”
“Look at Trooper,” she said, pointing. “He pushes his nose into the blossom, then backs off and opens his mouth. Brother starts to do the same, but his mouth doesn’t open. What’s that all about?”
“Trooper usually does it when smelling something. He even tests the wind that way. He smells with his nose and opens his mouth to smell again. Looks like Brother hasn’t learned that yet.”
“What?”
“Cats have an organ in the roof of the mouth that helps them identify and record things by smell.”
“Can we do that?” she asked with a sly smile.
“Well, maybe when humans were first evolving, long ago. Cats can test a smell carried by the wind and determine if an animal is prey or predator, if a cat is a male or female.”
“They’re sure making a big issue of flower smelling,” she said. “Look at the cactus on the other side of the gulley. How beautiful! They have yellow blossoms.”
“I think Trooper is teaching Brother not only how to use the art of smelling, but how to avoid the spines . . . the needles. I’m sure he’s learned through trial and error how to avoid the needles while enjoying the sweet smell of the flower. You know, that cactus has been a staple of Mexican and Central American people for thousands of years.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I’m serious. The oval pods can be prepared and eaten like a vegetable. But one has to take care to remove all the needle-like spines. There are two
types. That’s what Trooper is showing Brother. The petals of the flower are often eaten as a salad, and its pear like a fruit. You’ve seen cactus candy for sale in gift shops?”
“Yes. Here, and in Arizona.”
“Most come from the prickly pear.”
“Do wild cats eat the flower pods?” she asked with genuine curiosity.
“I don’t think so. Some animals do, but the cat will wait for meat.”
“Look!” said Teri, once again pointing. “The cactus lesson must be over. They are heading this way, side by side. Trooper has been showing Brother every piece of furniture in this office.”
“That comes as no surprise. I’m sure enjoying watching Trooper play like a kitten again. This game of chasing and rolling about reminds me of his early days. I guess we all enjoy being a kid again, once in a while.”
Brother, of course, like children, was a bundle of pure energy. He moved about like a windup toy until collapsing for a nap. While playing together, if Trooper became tired, or for whatever reason lost interest, he held the little cat down with his paw for a few moments to subdue him, and then simply walked away.
The activities and explorations for the two continued for two weeks, and still, we had no idea just where Brother had come from. There had been no “lost cat” posters in the neighborhood, no listing in the paper’s lost-and-found section, and local animal hospitals reported they had no one looking for a lost gold cat.
So we were left with our original conclusion: Trooper found him at a nearby ranch, or someone dropped him off along the road to dispose of him.
We became, each day, more attached to the little cat, especially since Trooper not only accepted him, but had begun an education program. The big cat had assumed the position of both mother and father, and thus far appeared to be enjoying the responsibility. But we had yet to learn the true personality of the little cat. That would soon be revealed as he began to grow.
On morning about two weeks after Brother’s arrival, the mystery of his origin was officially solved.
The whirring sound of an electric golf cart announced the arrival of Jim Butler. Then silence as the cart came to a halt in the driveway near my office door. In a moment the towering figure of Jim entered the office.
“This place got any coffee?” he inquired with typical swagger and a healthy grin.
“Sure, Jim. Black, or lots of cream and sugar?” I shot back as a joke. I already knew the answer.
“What! Do you think I’m a sissy sailor? Black, of course!”
“Sit down, Jim. Tell me what brings you here, while Teri gets you a cup.”
“Well.” He paused. “How’s my cat doing?”
Teri and I exchanged a quick glance.
“I didn’t know you had any pets,” I said. “What color is your cat?”
“Was my cat,” he replied, smiling. Then he continued after taking a long sip of coffee.
“He was gold. Antique gold. Your bobcat kidnapped him. Led him over here.”
“Well.” I hesitated. “Trooper brought home a gold cat about two weeks ago. We have been trying to find his owner ever since. I guess, now, we’ve found him. Why did you wait so long to tell us, if you knew he was over here?”
“I wanted to see if he would come back on his own. I hoped he decided to stay over here. I’m not a cat person, though, and I knew you guys could take good care of him.”
“He’s doing fine,” I assured him, “playing with Trooper all the time. Would you like to see him, Jim?”
“No, thank you. Not necessary. I know he’s okay and that makes me feel good. He wasn’t mine, anyway. I just felt sorry for the little fellow so I set out some food and water for him every day.”
“He wasn’t your pet? Just a stray?”
“No. Not a pet. It’s a sad story. Makes me sick to think about it. I reacted too slow . . .”
“Does he have his shots yet?” Teri asked.
“No shots. In fact, I never even touched him. Just fed him. So please keep him . . . as my gift.”
I breathed a deep sigh of relief. Apparently Little Brother now belonged to us, or at least to Trooper.
“More coffee, Jim?” Teri inquired.
“Yeah. Thank you. I never tasted coffee until I joined the Navy. Now I can’t stop drinking the stuff.”
“Better coffee than whiskey,” I said.
“True. And I never tasted whiskey until the Navy, either. I wasn’t even of age the first time I tried it.”
I circled back: “In regards to the cat, Jim. You said you reacted too slowly. What way?” I was puzzled.
“Have you named that cat yet?” he asked, as if to avoid an answer. “I never gave him a name.”
“Yes. Chiaki named him Little Brother for the way he follows Trooper around.”
Jim rubbed his right knee with his hand and inhaled a long breath, releasing it slowly.
“I’ll tell you about . . . Brother, if you really want to know.”
“Of course we do,” said Teri. “We’re curious.”
“About eight weeks ago,” Jim began with a clear voice, “a tan-colored mother cat decided to deliver her kittens at the bottom of my back porch steps. As best I could tell, she had four kittens. She kept them in the crawl space under my house, which has just enough clearance for the family to go in and out.”
“Any idea where she came from?” Teri asked.
“Nope. She simply showed up, as cats will sometimes do.”
“And?” I pushed.
“And,” Jim continued. “They were doing okay for the first three weeks. Then, one night, the predators struck.”
“The coyotes.”
“Oh!”
“I heard a cat scream,” Jim continued, his body leaning forward. “I was watching TV and went to open the back door. Coyotes, four of them! They had already killed mother cat. One was carrying her away. I went to get my gun. But in that minute or two, by the time I got to the back porch, they were gone, and so were the kittens. The brutes had attacked, killed, and retreated, all in less than three minutes!”
Jim paused to take another sip of coffee, then set the cup down at the edge of my desk.
“Sometimes,” he said, “I wish I had never stopped smoking. That scene made me nervous and sick to my stomach. The next morning I went out, right at dawn, to see if any kittens escaped the massacre. Sure enough, I heard a kitten crying. I pulled him out from the crawl space. Gave him some tuna fish and water and meat scraps each day. That yellow cat ate real good. Poor guy. He didn’t appear to have any wounds on his skin so he must have crawled under the house to safety when the battle . . . no! It weren’t no battle! It was a massacre!”
As Jim spoke, my thoughts flashed to the day I found Trooper. How similar their early experience.
“So what happened next?” Teri’s voice broke a moment of silence.
“I told the gold cat to hide under the house, which he did each night. During the mornings he came out and I watched him play about the yard. My rifle was always ready. I wanted the thugs to return, but they haven’t. But guess who did show up!”
“Who?” I asked, fully expecting him to say it was an old Navy buddy.
“Your big cat,” came the quick answer. “They began to play together and took naps, side-by-side in the tree shade. It seemed your cat had assumed the position of bodyguard. When your cat walked away the gold cat meowed a few times, then went to sleep. But then about two weeks ago, I guess, they both felt the kitten was strong enough to follow the big cat. I watched as the kitten followed Trooper across the road and into your front yard. I waited these days to see if he might return. He didn’t, so I figured he’s happy here.”
“You know we’ll take good care of him,” Teri said.
“I’m sure you all will. By the way, Johnson, you know why older cats sometimes adopt a younger cat, don’t you?”
“No,” I replied, “not really. But if this is another one of your Navy stories, I’ll ask Teri to step out for a while.”
His story gave me an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew Trooper was aging, but thought little of it because he always seemed so active. And, like most people, I hold onto the naïve belief that our loved ones live forever.
“One thing about you, Jim,” I finally said, “you always bring a dab of depressing news mixed with the good stuff!”
Jim replied with a laugh, “But that’s the way life goes, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I suppose so.”
Then Jim decided, wisely, to change the subject.
“Do you know the Packer family? They have a small ranch about a mile and a half southeast of here.”
“No,” I responded, “I don’t think I’ve met them.”
“Well . . . Mrs. Packer, Ruth is her name, says she knows you, or at least knows your cat.”
“Trooper visits that far away?” I said, puzzled. “He didn’t cause any problems, did he?”
“No. None. But Ruth did have a few interesting things to report the other day. Seems they invested in a flock of African guinea hens, about fifty I think she said.”
“What kind of bird is that?” Teri asked. “They’re not natural to this desert, are they?”
“Not at all. The Packers want to see if the birds will survive around here. It’s more of a fun project for them than anything else. They are funny-looking birds, all gray feathers and a long neck, topped with a head that looks like a vulture. They are about the size of a fat chicken. Ruth is fascinated with the birds for some reason, and thinks of them as pets, not food. The problem is, those birds wander about in groups, often traveling a mile before returning home. They visited my place. I call them ‘the long-range patrol.’”
“What’s this got to do with Trooper? Did he kill one of her birds?” I asked.
“Well, no. But this is where the story gets interesting. Ruth had seen your cat before, so when he showed up to check the birds, she naturally worried he would make a meal out of them. He didn’t. He just sat back and watched them. They make a lot of chatter as they move about, so that surely got Trooper’s attention. But you can guess who has been making a meal out of the birds!”