Trooper

by Forrest Bryant Johnson

  So when Herman reported that Trooper and Brother had been “hiding” in the culvert pipe under the road for over an hour, I decided to investigate.

  I sat under the large pine tree, the same one where Brother had taunted the coyote two years prior, and waited, my eyes scanning the desert opposite the gulley.

  Then I saw a large raven, his glossy black feathers reflecting in the sunlight, devouring something between sage bushes. His mate perched upon a telephone pole, standing guard, ready to sound an alarm.

  Trooper emerged from the pipe slowly, followed by Brother, who always appeared clumsy no matter how hard he tried to duplicate the big cat’s movements.

  I realized that Brother was about to receive the ultimate stalking lesson. Trooper had selected the impossible task of sneaking up on a raven, but strictly for practice and educational purposes, I’m sure. He wanted his young friend to learn the bird’s tactics. But attempting to catch the most intelligent bird in our sky was a challenge.

  The cats moved slowly up from the gulley. Trooper was the first to reach the top, and as he crouched and prepared a dash for the bird, the mate on the pole sounded the alarm with a deep croak.

  Trooper rushed the target and missed by several inches as the bird launched safely.

  Easier kills, such as quail, doves, and sparrows, awaited. I doubt if Brother learned anything that day, or cared. He wanted to accompany the big cat, but as he reached the age of three, he would still rather play than hunt.

  CHAPTER 23

  The Touching of Heads

  “If having a soul means being able to feel love and loyalty and gratitude, then animals are better off than a lot of humans.”

  James Herriot

  “MR. JOHNSON, YOU HAVE AN intruder in your home. The signal is coming from the hallway, near the master bedroom door.”

  The calm voice of the security system operator on my cell interrupted an otherwise peaceful dinner my wife and I had, to that point, been enjoying at a nearby Italian restaurant. I set my fork down and thought a moment before replying.

  “But if someone is in the hall, he or she would have had to come through a window or door. Do you notice a breach at one of those points?”

  “No, sir. None.”

  “Then how did they get in?”

  “I don’t know, sir. Maybe through the roof . . . or a hole in the wall. Our equipment only picked up movement in the hall.”

  “Could my cat have set off the alarm?”

  “Not unless he is five feet tall. The intruder had to be at least five foot to activate the motion detector.”

  “My cat is big, but not that big.”

  “We have sent one of our armed response cars to your home and notified the police. No one will enter the property until you arrive.”

  “Good. We’re on the way.”

  I placed money to pay the bill and tip on the table.

  “What’s going on?” my wife asked worriedly as I escorted her to the door.

  “I’ll explain in the car.”

  As we drove from the parking lot, I phoned Herman and instructed him to remain inside until the security company or the police arrived. I didn’t want him wandering around outside the house and have the police mistake him for the intruder.

  When we arrived at the house, the police officer, a large flashlight in hand, advised that he, the security representative, and Herman had already checked the outside of the house and found no sign of forced entry. I unlocked the front door, deactivated the alarm at the keypad, and stepped back to the let the officer lead the way.

  An hour’s search of the house uncovered nothing unusual. Even the cats were nowhere to be found. I assumed they were playing outside and would avoid the excitement created by strangers. Chi later told me she noticed that both Trooper and Brother were sitting calmly in the shadows of the guest house, watching.

  Days went by and the odd incident of an “intruder” was all but forgotten. The alarm people brushed it off as a possible “malfunction or temporary interruption in the electrical system,” whatever that was supposed to mean.

  But things are rarely that simple, and a week later it happened again. This time we were driving home from another restaurant when a call came from the security company. Otherwise, the scenario was identical. A search of our home revealed nothing unusual, nor did it produce a five-foot-tall intruder. The mystery bothered us for a few days more until an answer came while we were watching television one night in the bedroom.

  By now, Brother had become a full-grown cat, but was still very playful and mischievous. Trooper, on the other hand, was beginning to show his age. His naps were frequent and longer, and his weight had dropped from twenty-eight pounds to about twenty-three. But he still had bursts of energy, racing and chasing Brother about the house and yard, but with a nap to follow that vigorous exercise. Those racing games were exactly what activated the alarm system.

  While I had initially suspected that the cats were to blame, I wasn’t sure how they did it. Brother never had the ability to jump straight up to a height of five feet. Trooper, at a younger age, easily obtained that altitude, but in later years limited his jumps to mostly straight out, not up. In his old age he still climbed trees with remarkable speed, often pouncing down upon an imaginary prey.

  We discovered the answer to the motion detector mystery by accident.

  Outside our bedroom door was a small space where a metal, spiral staircase led to a second-level storage room. Both staircase and that room were seldom used . . . by humans.

  The cats, however, had added more fun to their chasing games by running up the spiral stairs and springing off to land on the floor, six feet below, thus causing the motion detector to activate an alarm. So, our “intruder” was not a five-foot person, but rather jumping cats.

  The alarm company disconnected the detector in the hall, and our evenings were never interrupted by their calls again.

  Walking out to the office a few days later, I heard Brother meowing frantically. Trooper sat in the driveway in front of the guesthouse door, staring intently at something on the roof.

  Looking up, I saw Brother racing along the roof’s low wall, meowing frantically as if he was being chased. I knew, instantly, his problem. He had followed Trooper up the pine tree to the roof, and now either could not remember how to come down, or lacked the nerve to try. I watched for a few minutes. The poor gold cat was panicking. There was only one solution. Trooper must go up and show him the way down. But apparently, to that point, the big cat had no interest in doing so.

  As I studied the situation, I became convinced that Trooper, in his own way, was trying to teach Brother the special technique required for roof climbing and, more important, returning safely. The student obviously had not learned.

  I worried that Brother might jump to the driveway, a distance that was too far, even for a strong cat.

  I made Trooper follow me to the base of the tree, lifted him up, and held him until he grasped the trunk. He understood what I wanted him to do and quickly climbed to the large limb that reached over the roof. That limb served as a sturdy bridge to cross from tree to roof, but apparently it did take nerve to jump back onto it for a return trip.

  I stood there, trying to see just how Trooper would show the little cat the best way to escape the hot roof, but their activity was hidden by the wall. Then, I saw the limb move a little as Trooper appeared on it near the trunk. He started down the tree, head first, to lower limbs, turning halfway down, then continued tail first a few more feet, turned again and leaped to the ground, an art he had mastered many years ago.

  The big limb moved again, and there was the brave Little Brother, moving cautiously, step by step, so unsure, but he succeeded in returning to earth.

  After letting out a huge sigh of relief, I soon settled down to do some paperwork at my desk, and was in a pleasant conversation with Teri, when my wife’s voice blasted through on the two-way radio.

  “Come quick!” she yelled. “Meat-eating
cat!”

  I frowned and answered, “Chi, what did you say?”

  “Meat-eating cat!”

  I looked at Teri, who had a broad smile. “What’s she talking about, Dad?”

  “Don’t know. Trooper is asleep on a meeting room chair. Guess I had better get up there.”

  “Where’s Brother?” Teri asked.

  “I thought he was out here. He came down from the roof some time ago.”

  I jogged to the house and found Chi standing in the kitchen, her hands on her hips.

  “What is this meat-eating cat you’re talking about?” I asked with a laugh.

  “It’s not funny,” she snapped. “I was preparing two small filets for us for dinner . . .”

  “I see one,” I said, looking at the plate in front of her. “Where’s the other?”

  “Yours . . . is over there,” she replied with a slight laugh. “With your meat-eating cat!”

  She pointed to the corner of the living room where Brother crouched and chewed on the raw hunk of filet. He sat up, the beef between his front paws, and stared at me with his big eyes, pleading for mercy.

  “I had the meat on the plate,” she explained, “and turned to look for the garlic salt in the cabinet. Like a flash, that cat jumped up here and ran off with your dinner.”

  “Why my dinner? Could we share your little steak?” I tried to hold back my laugh. Somehow, I didn’t feel angry. This was rather funny.

  Suddenly Brother rushed past us, the steak dangling from his mouth, and dashed through the cat entrance in the kitchen screen door.

  “There goes your dinner,” she stated coldly. “You had better have a talk with that cat.”

  I followed Brother as he raced towards the office. By the time I reached the meeting room, Trooper was awake and enjoying the remaining piece of meat the little cat presented to him.

  Peeking from out behind Trooper, Brother’s eyes seemed to plead for mercy and forgiveness. Maybe he believed we might say nothing to Trooper and that the big cat would protect him.

  “What’s going on in there?” Teri asked.

  “Oh, nothing, just my cats eating my dinner!”

  “What?”

  “Never mind, Teri. Could you please order me a pizza? Deliver here about six.”

  “Sure, Dad.”

  Our neighbor, Jim, once said, “Your bobcat has probably test eaten every creature in this desert, his size or smaller.”

  Perhaps that was true, but I noticed that Trooper showed less interest in hunting as he aged, and seemed to be very content with his favorite dry and canned food. He had, in a way, reverted to a young cat again, from a dietary standpoint, anyway.

  That was fine with Brother. I don’t think he ever once ate anything that could move of its own volition. Even when Trooper brought a “kill” to him, he ignored it, preferring to munch on generic store-bought cat food.

  When it came to stalking prey, of course, Trooper’s skills were superior to Brother’s, but his goal, with one exception, was restricted to wild animals. That exception was helicopters. He hated those air craft for years. Maybe he thought they were giant birds, coming to avenge all the smaller ones he killed during his life, or maybe the chopping sound of the blades bothered him. As a young cat, he hid under any available protection, but as he grew older, he went into a crouch position, ready to attack the thing if it came close enough.

  Perhaps the best example of his intentions came one night while I watched a war movie on our large-screen television. Trooper napped peacefully nearby until he heard the sound of a helicopter on the TV. As the helicopter appeared to come closer on the screen, the cat crouched and began to inch his way to the set. His short tail twitched and he swiveled his hips like a golfer preparing to try a difficult putt.

  The helicopter became louder as it flew in our direction. Trooper rose slightly, ready to spring forward. I jumped and tackled him at the same moment as he leaped for the attack. With my arms wrapped around him, we rolled across the floor from the impact of our crash. The second we recovered, the show cut to commercial, and his enemy, the horrible helicopter, was gone. The cat sat up and looked at me as if I were the crazy one, but he pushed his head to my arm in a show of affection. I lowered myself so our two heads could touch, and his eyes widened in acceptance of my gesture.

  Differing from Trooper, Brother enjoyed stalking any moving, mechanical thing. Chi and I had invested in a toy firetruck, powered by battery, which was about two-and-a-half inches long. Brother stalked and chased the little truck, chewing on it and tossing it as if it were a mouse.

  Unlike most cats, he had no fear of vacuum cleaners and would attack ours as Chi attempted to clean the carpet. His war with that machine became such a hindrance that she often had to postpone the cleaning until Brother had found something outside for amusement.

  His greatest fascination was with a small electric train I assembled to entertain my grandchildren when they came to visit. But the train set had a short life.

  Like a feline Godzilla, he first attacked the cars, tossed them into the air, and then crushed the tiny engine. The tracks were saved for last. By the time I crossed the room to stop the destruction, only a few pieces remained connected.

  Yet Brother’s actions, as naughty as they may have been, were comical. His big eyes, appearing always so pleading and innocent, made it difficult to reprimand him. In fact, often before I could say a serious word of criticism, he would come to us, using his head “butting” as part of a negotiation for mercy.

  This touching of the head is a wonderful way of identifying you as a friend, sort of a handshake-hug combination. It also leaves their scent behind and can be a method of saying, You are mine. Cats use the touching of heads for greeting each other, things, and even other animals. And it isn’t restricted to domestic cats. Trooper used the affectionate greeting from the time he was a kitten.

  Perhaps the extreme example of this head touching came when the cats discovered a new, very large, strange-looking animal in our neighborhood.

  The cats were sitting atop the low stone wall that separated our front property from the road. Their attention had been fixed for some time on something beyond a white rail fence on the opposite side. I joined them to learn what was so interesting. And it was soon apparent: I saw a snorting monster staring back at them, a beautiful chestnut mustang.

  I doubt if Trooper had seen a mustang before, so this creature in our area was a new attraction. Even though all the ranches around us were called “horse” property, no one actually owned one, until now.

  The famous free-roaming horses of the American West were first introduced to the New World when Cortés entered what is now Mexico, in the early 1500s. The mustangs today are mostly descendants of those Spanish horses, and are technically feral, rather than wild, as their ancestors were domesticated. The actual word “mustang” comes from the Spanish meaning an “animal that strays.” But the average American thinks of those horses as wild and free.

  As the Spanish explorers journeyed north through the central and southwest regions of North America, they brought their horses with them. Some explorers traveled the Spanish Trail from Southern California, around the Grand Canyon, and into what is now New Mexico. Over many years some horses escaped and survived as strays in the wilderness. Soon, in some areas, the Native Americans found a good use for horses.

  In the mid-1800s, American pioneers pushing West traveled with their horses, which had been introduced on the east coast by English, French, Dutch, and German immigrants.

  As Americans arrived in the West, some of their animals wandered away and joined the free Spanish horses.

  Both the Spanish and American pioneers also brought along donkeys (or burros) and some of those also managed to break free and still roam the Southwest.

  The primary government authority for the management and protection of mustangs and donkeys is the U.S. Department of the Interior, Bureau of Land Management (BLM). This organization determined in 2002 that the sev
ere drought gripping the Southwest had, of course, placed the mustangs and donkeys in danger. Most horses and some donkeys were relocated farther north, where they can find the natural food and water needed for their survival.

  A few donkeys, with their ability to survive on less water than horses, and possessed of a greater tolerance of natural plants to eat, remain on government-controlled land near Las Vegas, roaming free around the beautiful Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area.

  The BLM has an adoption program through which one may purchase a mustang (or donkey) for about $150, providing the buyer meets certain qualifications, including the ability to provide enough acreage for the animal to enjoy. Most of those adopted animals have become devoted pets and are wonderful for recreational riding.

  Our neighbor across the road, to the northwest, owned fifteen acres that had sat vacant for several years prior. Recently he had enclosed it with white rail fencing and taken advantage of the BLM’s adoption program.

  The chestnut mustang pranced about the property, becoming somewhat domestic, or at least tame, faster than I expected. I confess, I know nothing about taming wild horses.

  Before the introduction of the horse to our neighborhood, Trooper, no doubt was the largest animal on four legs. Now, a giant lived across the country road.

  I held my breath for a moment as Trooper crossed the road and moved slowly along the rail fence, first one direction, and then back. I think he had determined, through hours of observation from our wall, that the large animal was indeed trapped on the other side of the fence and could not break out. Assured of that fact, it was time for an animal introduction.

  That was what worried me. Horses have a very keen sense of danger, especially from predators.

  Bobcats, in some parts of the country, have been known to kill deer. They are not foolish enough to attack a horse. But mountain lions do kill horses, and to the mustang, cats may smell the same, regardless of size.

  Brother remained at a safe distance, perched upon our wall. Trooper sat very close to the bottom rail of the fence. All of us waited for the horse to react to the cat’s presence.