This morning our fur buddy Cooper passed away. He was born under our front porch to a neighborhood feral. We found homes for his siblings, but the girls wanted him so badly that despite my allergies, John and I granted their wish.
They named him Alice, because that early on we weren’t aware that the tiny ball of fluff was a boy. When that became all too obvious, we changed his name to Alice Cooper, and he eventually became just Cooper or “Coop.”
Many people who visited our home never even realized we had a cat. He was by no means very social; a lot like me in that regard. When he heard strange voices he often hid under some remote piece of furniture, only choosing to come out when the door audibly shut and the house became calm again.
His favorite hang out spots were in the cool porcelain of the pedestal sink, or inside the washer or dryer if I failed to remember to shut the lid or door while I was doing laundry.
His hobbies included knocking everything that wasn’t nailed down from a flat surface down to floor, and also delighting in intimidating Boo, Winnie, and George into leaving a wide berth as they walked around him to avoid any swats. He also loved a good headbutt and belly rub.
He is now laid to rest in our yard where he was born. In a green expanse of grass buffered by pines adjoining the woods, alongside his fur siblings that have passed who he often tormented, but loved. Buried with great love, care, and reverence by the man who has taught me to love nature in all its forms and learn every lesson I can from it. I feel grateful and blessed to have someone whose heart is so big that he can do a task that I couldn’t and give our boy a beautiful resting place.
Many wood surfaces in our homes bear the marks of his claws even though he had a perfectly good scratching post at his disposal. He is leaving us with similar indelible marks on our hearts and memories. He was a good boy, he was loved, and our house won’t feel quite the same again. 💔