Trooper

by Forrest Bryant Johnson

  Suddenly the black baby cat darted between my legs, then ran in front of me and sat down.

  “What’s wrong with you girls?” I snapped at the cats. “You’ve been acting crazy lately!”

  She turned and shot a glance at me over her shoulder. Mama cat joined her, stared at me several seconds, and then the two began to walk towards the southeast corner of the property. They stopped again and waited.

  A strange feeling crawled through me. Something told me—only a quick thought, but a strong one—they were speaking to me. I heard nothing. But I felt a chill, then warm all over.

  Silly, I thought. Of course I felt warm. It was a hot day, a very hot day.

  The girls continued on to the gully. There they paused and came next to me. For the first time they let me reach out and stroke their soft black fur. It was warm from the sun.

  “What is it, girls?” I asked. Again, only silence.

  They left me there on the edge of our property wondering just what they were trying to tell me. Did they really know something important, or were they only funny cats seeking attention?

  CHAPTER 14

  Rescue!

  “I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat.”

  Edgar Allen Poe

  WHERE WAS MY CAT? WE entered the seventh day of his disappearance and still had seen neither head nor tail of him, and had no leads, either. My wife sympathized with my frustration and sadness, suggesting I should give up hope, accept the fact that he was gone, and accept that we might never know what happened to him. But I wasn’t going to give up with my faith and hope that I would find Trooper alive. I refused to surrender my belief that he was still alive, somewhere.

  I sat in my office the morning of Trooper’s eighth day away from home, my feet propped up on the desk, contemplating my next effort towards finding my cat. Concentration was difficult. My thoughts had become saturated with memories of Trooper. I know that this often happens when one loses something or someone dear. Memories become part of the healing process.

  Two weeks before he went missing, I recalled an incident that, although forgettable at the time, seemed important now. Trooper was sleeping, as he so often did, on my desk across from me. He suddenly became alert, with eyes wide and ears pointing towards the closed door. He sat up, his short tail twitching.

  I heard no sound, yet the cat knew something was on the other side of that door. He leaped silently to the floor, walked towards the door, and then paused.

  I opened the door. The mama cat sat on the opposite side of the driveway, about fifty feet away. The two cats stared at each other for three minutes, neither making a sound nor moving a muscle.

  How did my sleeping Trooper know that the black cat waited outside?

  “Do you want to try another search, Dad?” Teri’s question abruptly snapped me out of my daydream.

  “What?” I replied.

  “Are you giving up?”

  “Not completely,” I said, “but I can’t think of a place we haven’t checked. Can you, Herman?”

  The old German stroked his pointed chin, which often remained rigid when he spoke.

  “We have looked everywhere,” he responded. “Twice in some places.”

  “Another search of the desert really won’t accomplish anything.” I said. “I’m running out of ideas. No response from our posters, no phone calls.”

  “So, what’s next? What can we do to help?” asked Teri.

  “Nothing right now,” I replied resignedly. “Go on with your work. I’m taking a walk. Got to think. I’ll take my radio so call me if something interesting comes in.”

  I knew, from my years of exploring our desert, that it is impossible to cover an area completely. From above, the desert floor appears flat, void of any obstructions. Of course, it is not flat. At ground level one discovers the terrain to be rolling with small hills, the earth buckled by millions of years of erosion and movement. Dry washes or dry creek beds, gullies and ravines, often hidden by sage, creosote bushes, and desert willow trees crisscross the land. Cacti of all sorts add to the difficulty and danger of traversing those rugged areas.

  We could not cover its entirety in just two searches or even in two hundred.

  As I walked a few paces from the office, I stumbled over the baby cat, who rushed between my legs out of a hiding place. I regained my pace only to feel her brush against my leg while crying frantically with meows. At first I thought I might have injured her when I tripped, but that was not her problem.

  She dashed in front of me, then returned, crying loudly, and repeated the odd behavior as I walked on at a steady pace. Finally I realized she was trying to lead me into the side yard. When I followed, her crying instantly diminished.

  Did she really have something to show me, or as I previously thought, was this was only a simple cat, seeking attention?

  “Didn’t we make this trip before?” I said to the cat, exasperated. “The last time you left me sitting in the yard, if you recall!”

  But this time, she led me farther across the yard in the direction of the gully. At the corner of the property we encountered Mama cat. At this point, I was convinced that the two had something that they considered important to share with me. But would it be important to me, or did they simply want to play? I decided to go along with them just in case they really had something to show me.

  They both began to meow as they continued on into the gully. We traveled east several yards. The cats were silent now, apparently convinced they had my attention.

  I followed slowly until we reached the edge of my neighbor’s property. There, Baby turned to the left and started into that yard in a northern direction, entering a small tunnel in the brush, probably created by rabbits. Mama fell behind, sat down, and watched as I fought my way through vines and tall sage, attempting to keep track of her baby.

  I felt the sting as thorns cut my jeans and ripped my thin cotton shirt, but I moved on, trying to keep up with the cat. She paused occasionally to look back, as if to check on my progress.

  I lost her for a few moments. Which way did she go? Did she turn or continue straight? How stupid, I thought. I had no idea why I should be following a cat, an animal I barely knew, into that jungle.

  I considered turning back and letting the cats play together as they desired. But then, suddenly, I broke free of the tangled mess and found myself standing at the edge of a clearing, which was invisible from the direction we came. The cat was waiting for me a few feet away.

  “OK,” I said, “now what?”

  She looked at me, gave a pleasant-sounding meow, and moved past, entering the brush directly behind me. Apparently we had reached our destination. What was so important about this spot? Why did she need to share it with me? So there I stood, feeling foolish to have followed a cat to nowhere interesting.

  My eyes searched the clearing in hopes of spotting something that I had missed. The area had freshly cut grass in contrast to the jungle-like terrain we crossed. That flat land continued some sixty or seventy feet to my neighbor’s old barn, against which leaned a variety of rusting plow blades. I sighed, took in a deep breath, and started to reenter the brush and fight my way through it. I simply wanted to return home.

  Then I heard something. Something that sounded like an animal crying. More specifically, an animal I knew well crying.

  “Trooper!” I shouted, desperately grasping at the hope that he was nearby.

  And then a louder cry! Not the strong scream I often heard from my cat, but a weak facsimile.

  How stupid I had been. The black cat knew Trooper was in this area. They attempted to show me days before, but I didn’t trust them. I thought they were simply little animals trying to seek attention.

  “Trooper! Where are you?”

  I was frantic. My heart pounded as I rushed to the barn. I reached the door. A large padlock secured it. I moved to the north end of the building, not knowing what I expected to find. I had to locate another entrance!

  I heard the cry
again, this time much stronger.

  “Trooper! Where . . .”

  My shout was interrupted by a yowling sound coming from above. I looked up. There, almost ten feet above my head, I saw his face, pressed against a jagged hole in the boards. Apparently he had managed to enlarge an opening by scratching at the thick oak wood until he could force his face through. It was still much too small for his head.

  My first thought was, How do I get him out of the barn? And then, how did he get inside a locked barn in the first place?

  “Hold on Trooper! I’ll get help.”

  I rushed back to the door and pulled on the padlock. The lock and the thick metal guard on the wood around it were both strong. I needed a heavy hammer and chisel or crowbar to break it open.

  But I had no right to destroy someone’s property, even if it was to save my friend. If I was caught, regardless of my intention, I could be arrested.

  I started to press the radio button and call Herman for help. He had the necessary tools to break into the place and the knowledge to do it easily. Then a better idea hit me. Maybe the owner was home or someone there knew the location of the key. If not, then breaking in would be the necessary resort.

  I spoke to Trooper with a shaky voice, assuring him I would return, and then ran to the front of the house. An elderly lady answered the doorbell. I frantically introduced myself and explained, “My cat is trapped in your barn! He’s been in there for a week with no food or water! Do you have a key?”

  “Oh, yes!” she exclaimed. “My husband always keeps that door locked. How did your cat get in there?”

  “I have no idea!”

  “He keeps it locked because he’s afraid vandals will get in and destroy the place.”

  “Yes, I understand. Do you have a key? I can get my cat . . .”

  She finally recognized my desperation.

  “Yes, yes. He keeps it on a nail in the kitchen wall.”

  She returned faster than I expected, and we walked together to the barn.

  Along the way she said, “I just remembered. My husband was out here doing something about a week ago. At dinner, that night, he said he thought he may have forgotten to close and lock that door. He came out here in the dark to lock the place up. Been open all day, he said.”

  I remembered Herman reporting more than a week ago that Trooper came down from the office roof and rushed to the southeast corner of our property. Nothing unusual about that, but from his position, high up on the roof, he might have seen the open door on the barn, a door that was always closed before then. Without a doubt, this would have been a great temptation for the cat. A closed door tends to bother cats, and if open, the inside demands inspection. Or he could have simply discovered the opening while exploring that mysterious yard. Either way, he went inside the barn and the husband returned and locked the door, not realizing he had trapped a visitor inside.

  The key worked! The lock sprang and I had the door completely open.

  The barn had no windows, or if it did, they were boarded up, preventing light from entering. The only light came as a glow above a wide shelf, a hole the cat had clawed in the thick boards.

  Suddenly, I heard a sound, like something falling. A metallic sound, perhaps a can of some sort. And then the sound of wood rubbing against wood.

  “Trooper!” I managed to shout but in a very subdued voice. “I’m here, Troop. Where are you?”

  I was answered with silence.

  My eyes strained, but could not focus in on anything. My throat was dry and my legs felt like they were paralyzed, unable to move in any direction. I tried to lean forward and reach into that black room, but what for? What did I expect to grasp when I could see nothing?

  Suddenly, from somewhere in the darkness, Trooper leaped onto my chest. The impact caught me by surprise and knocked me backward. My arms quickly wrapped around him and my eyes flooded. He was purring loudly.

  “My, he’s a big kitty!” the lady remarked as I handed her the key.

  “Thank you,” I managed to say. Nothing more was needed. My face said it all.

  “Let’s go home, Troop!”

  He began to squirm and jumped from my arms. I tried to follow as we rushed through the hellish underbrush. I managed to keep up with him, ignoring the thorns cutting through my shirt, until we reached the gully. At our backyard he broke into a full run in the direction of the house. I didn’t try to race with him. That was impossible.

  In the excitement I had forgotten the radio. I removed it from my belt, pushed the button, and shouted:

  “I found Trooper! He’s OK! We’re running to the house now.”

  Teri was the first to reply, “Thank God! I’ll see you guys at the house.”

  The black cats were lying in the shade next to the back porch as Trooper darted through his cat door and into the kitchen.

  I paused as I reached the steps and looked at the girls.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll tell Trooper . . . I’ll tell everyone you girls saved him.”

  Chi stood next to Trooper as he lapped up water from his bowl.

  “I heard your radio call,” she said, while dabbing at tears with a paper towel. “I can’t believe he’s still alive.”

  Teri joined us, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “The black cats showed me where you were, Trooper,” I said to the unresponsive cat.

  He turned and looked up at me as if to ask, “What took you so long?” Then he walked towards the bedroom.

  “He didn’t eat,” Chi noted.

  “I guess he knows what he needs. He’s stressed out. We all are. I’m sure he’ll eat later. We’ll let him rest and take him to visit Doctor Marg in the morning, when he is more relaxed.”

  I went to the bedroom and climbed on top of the blanket to be next to my cat. He pushed his head under my arm and began to purr. We both fell into a contented sleep.

  That evening he enjoyed a full can of wet food, a little of his dry food, and washed it all down with a quantity of water. He journeyed outside briefly, but returned in an hour to nap on a living room chair.

  The next morning, we managed to get him into his travel crate with surprisingly little pushback, although he did grumble on the way to the animal hospital.

  “What has this fellow been up to this time?” Doctor Marg greeted us with a smile as she picked up the cat and placed him on the exam table. She then began to massage his body.

  Trooper remained peaceful. He loved Doctor Marg, although he hated the trip required to visit her.

  I related the details of his disappearance and rescue as she checked his heart with a stethoscope. Then she turned her attention to Trooper’s thick file.

  “He’s ten years old!” she announced, as if a little surprised. “You’re a senior citizen cat.”

  “The years have gone by in a flash,” I added.

  “Trooper, you gave up another life,” she said. “You must have six remaining . . . or is it five? I can’t remember.”

  “I lost count,” I confessed, with a slight laugh.

  “Based on your story, I think the black cats, as you call them, must have known where he was trapped. Undoubtedly they heard his cries from the beginning. Cats have such a strong sense of hearing. You and your friends simply couldn’t hear him at a distance, added to the fact that he called from inside a building with thick walls. I’ll do my best to find a home for those cats.”

  “They deserve a good home,” I concurred.

  “I know you and your cat have both been under a lot of stress,” she said, “but I don’t think there is anything physically wrong with him. Maybe lost a pound or a little more. That would be like you losing ten pounds. So give him his usual food and he’ll gain it all back at his own pace. Wild cats often go a long time without food or water, especially those in the desert. Of course, your boy has been a little spoiled, to say the least. But his genes pulled him through this time.”

  I thanked her and with Trooper back in his crate was ready to pay
the bill at the front desk. I paused as the doctor spoke again.

  “You know, Mr. Johnson, I considered retiring this year. I have a potential buyer for the business. But customers like you two help keep my work interesting.”

  “And rewarding,” I jokingly injected

  She smiled and replied, “Of course. Very rewarding. Take care of your friend. You have done a wonderful job so far.”

  I told her how much I would appreciate her finding the black cats a home. I knew they would never be comfortable as outside cats. But I had one stipulation: the two must remain together.

  I have no way of knowing if Trooper thanked the black cats for leading me to him that day, or if he understood anything about the events up to the moment of rescue. Do animals thank one another or reward with special favors as we humans often do?

  I can, however, relate unusual events that occurred that winter, a few months after the rescue.

  December is always a cold month in the Mojave Desert, and that year the plunging temperatures broke records. At night it usually fell to the low forties, but it hit eighteen degrees and high winds brought dangerous chill factors. The bitter cold lasted less than two weeks, but the thermometer hung at the freezing mark much longer.

  During those cold nights Trooper did little roaming outside, electing instead to curl up in front of the wood-burning fireplace or on the blankets of my bed.

  We worried about the black cats outside and added an extra fluffy blanket to their cardboard box, which we placed in the corner of the front porch, out of the wind. But this provided little protection from the freezing temperatures.

  On the second cold night, around 9 p.m., I heard a series of meows in the front of the house. Since Trooper doesn’t meow, I knew the sound was obviously coming from another cat. I left my bed and walked to the living room to investigate. No cats there.

  I turned and looked into the dining room. Trooper sat, facing one of the chairs. There, appearing both comfortable and warm on the chair’s soft cushion, was Mama. Baby rested in the chair next to her. They both stared at me, perhaps worried I might force them to go outside.