Trooper

by Forrest Bryant Johnson

  The horse might panic and race about his corral, or worse, break down the rails and escape.

  But he did none of that. Instead, he whinnied and walked slowly to the fence. Trooper rose, stretching on his hind legs, until the top of his head reached almost the second rail from the top.

  The horse stretched his neck and reached his massive head until the two touched noses, then Trooper’s head.

  I stood for moments in disbelief, unable to move. Brother raced across the road and at Trooper’s side, stood with his paws on a rail and tried to reach the horse’s nose. He was too small for the touch and dropped to his feet.

  I was both deeply moved and thrilled. Two animals, both from the wild, had greeted each other in peace. This odd friendship would continue as the animals visited one another from time to time.

  But I also had an uneasy feeling as I watched Trooper cross the road and return to our yard. He appeared to be moving much more slowly than usual, with legs somewhat stiff, and his big ears, which were always so alert, held slightly to the side.

  Trooper and I had been together longer than most people are rewarded with the love of a pet. He was truly at an old age for any cat, especially one who had survived so many life-threating situations, including some I am sure occurred but which I had no real knowledge of. I knew I must prepare myself emotionally for that day when he must leave us. The thought frightened me. I wanted to hide it, bury it away somehow, as I had no way of knowing how to deal with the feelings when the loss came.

  CHAPTER 24

  Gone

  “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.”

  Dr. Seuss

  “GRANDPA, DO DOGS AND CATS go to heaven?”

  My granddaughter’s voice sounded very serious and I had to think before giving an answer. It was obvious she had concerns. What is it about children that motivates them to ask sensitive questions when one is busy on unrelated projects? Why not an easy question to answer?

  I leaned back in my desk chair.

  “Do you think I know the answer to such a serious question?” I replied.

  “Of course you do, Grandpa. Mom says you know everything because you’ve lived a long time.”

  “Oh,” I answered, attempting to hide my smile.

  “Well . . . ?”

  “Well, yes. I’m sure they do.”

  “Why? Why are you sure?”

  I tried to remember what I had read on the subject of animals and heaven.

  “It all has to do with what you believe,” I said. “Do you believe that Heaven is a happy place?”

  “Yes,” she answered firmly.

  “What gave you that belief?”

  “The Bible. It says Heaven is a place of peace and happiness.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell you what a wise man once said: if you have a pet and you and the pet are happy together, then God knows it. So, when you go to Heaven, your pet will be with you, and you both will be happy, because that is what Heaven is about.

  The little girl looked at me with a long gaze, then started to walk away. Had I put her mind at ease? But, as it is with any child, my answer prompted more questions.

  She turned to me.

  “What about snakes?”

  “Snakes?”

  “Yes. Robbie, my friend, he has a pet snake. He calls it Eli. Robbie loves Eli.”

  I had to answer quickly.

  “Then, if Robbie loves his snake, they’ll be together in Heaven.”

  The child smiled and added, “Eli never bit anybody. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Good.”

  And so my day began with challenging subjects. It was still early. I returned to the papers on my desk, only to be interrupted by Herman.

  “Big killing in the garage,” he announced, passing by the office door on the way to the coffee pot in the meeting room.

  “Who got killed?” I asked.

  No answer.

  “What’s he talking about?” I said to Teri.

  “Not sure,” she answered, “but I guess it’s about the massacre trap set up by Trooper in the garage.”

  “What massacre?” I laughed.

  “You know that twenty-five-gallon barrel where you keep bird seed you bought for the guineas and all the other birds?”

  “Yes. I had Herman place a piece of plywood over it to prevent the birds from getting into the barrel for unscheduled feedings.”

  “Trooper knocks that cover off so the birds can get into the barrel and eat.”

  “Considerate of my cat.”

  “That’s not his goal, Dad. He uses it as a trap!”

  The garage, situated between the office building and Herman’s guesthouse, always had a musty odor from oil and other chemicals needed by Herman for his maintenance duties about the ranch. A cornucopia of power equipment, mowers, saws, and tools lined the walls, always in neat arrangement.

  Along one wall a wide shelf, about four feet above the floor, remained empty. It ran the entire length of the unit. For easy access the garage door was always open.

  Under that empty shelf we had placed a small barrel filled with bird seed, its opening covered with a quarter-inch-thick piece of plywood. We discovered that Trooper could easily push that lid off, permitting birds to fly in and enjoy the seeds. The big cat waited in ambush upon the shelf above, until the barrel filled with birds. Then he pounced down and the “massacre” began.

  Trooper wasn’t hungry, and this killing presented no interesting challenge or “thrill of the hunt” for him. Brother was with him, waiting on the shelf, but jumped to the floor rather than the barrel and calmly walked away.

  What became Trooper’s last attempt to teach Brother the art of killing, a very easy kill at that, met once more with failure. The gold cat simply had no interest in killing or eating anything from the wild.

  Indeed, this was Trooper’s last effort. His ability to jump up onto a platform, a shelf, or desk had diminished substantially. To reach me in bed, he resorted to sinking his claws into the blankets to pull himself up.

  I requested Herman to construct a six-foot ramp, covered with carpet, which sloped at an angle so the big cat could easily walk up to me.

  Naturally, Brother assumed the ramp was for his pleasure, and ran up and down it a few times before Trooper could give it a try.

  The ramp solved the one problem, but did not address the cause, a deterioration of the body due to old age. I had to force myself to be realistic: Trooper was almost nineteen years old, old age for any cat.

  I stood on the front porch one morning and watched as he walked slowly towards the office. He paused, sat down, and then returned to the house. He didn’t want company that day, and apparently lost his curiosity, unconcerned about who was in the office or what the day’s activities might include. Nor was there any effort to patrol his territory any longer.

  That day we lay together on the living room floor as we had done many years before. Brother came and settled down at my other side. Trooper offered no objections and we three fell asleep.

  We knew we must get the old boy to the hospital, but I dreaded the thought. I placed his hated travel crate on the kitchen floor a few days later. Its top gate was open. Chi and I sat at the kitchen table discussing how we might get him into it without a struggle. Then an amazing but sad thing occurred. Trooper walked into the kitchen, looked at the open crate, and hopped into it.

  Chi looked at me for a comment. In all these years we had never been able to get him into that crate without his serious protest.

  “I guess he’s telling us something,” she said. “Do you want me to go with you?” Then she began to cry.

  “No. No, it is best you stay here. Keep an eye on Brother. I don’t want him to try to follow us.”

  I gently pushed Trooper down and closed the gate. He remained silent during the trip.

  I felt very uncomfortable as we entered the reception area. It had been remodeled since Doctor Marg retired, and I didn’t recognize anyone on duty.

/>   “Yes, Mr. Johnson. We received a call. Bring Trooper and follow me to the examination room. Doctor will be with you in a moment,” said the young nurse.

  “How did you know my cat’s name?” I asked.

  “Oh, we’ve never met, but Trooper is a legend around here. The nurse who trained us talked about Trooper all the time.”

  The tall young doctor entered, introduced himself, and spoke to me with a few professional words. But I didn’t remember any of it, and forgot his name when he left the room, carrying the crate with Trooper sleeping inside.

  I did remember him saying, “Would you like to wait? This may take a while,” or something along those lines. My mind was a mess of jumbled thoughts as I struggled to control my emotions. For a time, everything seemed like a blur, and his words came through as an echo.

  “I’ll wait,” I said.

  I waited, sitting alone on the metal bench in the examination room. An hour passed, perhaps two. I had no concept of time.

  Finally the young doctor returned.

  “I’m afraid I have bad news, Mr. Johnson.”

  “Yes?”

  “We thought Trooper’s problem was kidney stones and a urinary tract infection. But that’s not all. While he has those conditions . . . he also has bladder cancer and a small tumor.”

  “Not good,” I managed to reply.

  “No, sir. It is not good. I would not suggest surgery. Even if successful . . . we remove the stones and tumor, we can’t be certain how far the cancer has spread. After surgery, we can’t say how long he will live, and the pain he will suffer is something we cannot control.”

  The doctor paused, studying my reaction. Then he added, “I don’t think you want the suffering to continue.”

  “Of course I don’t.” I stumbled over my next words. “This is the end?”

  “I’m sorry. Would you like to stay with him as he goes to sleep?”

  “Yes, please. I can’t leave him alone.”

  Trooper appeared to be asleep on the table in the operating room. But as I came near, his tail twitched slightly. A nurse offered me a chair and I sat at the table, my arm pressed against him. I began to whisper in his ear, “I’m here. I’m here.” His eyes opened, then closed. I could hear a mild purr.

  I don’t think he felt the injection, but I did. A pain rumbled through my entire body, and then, nothing; no pain. Is that it, I thought. Is it all over? Does it always end so quickly? I stood, eyes flooding, and returned to the metal bench in the exam room.

  At least Trooper knew I was with him. He didn’t die alone under some bush in the desert. I was thankful for that.

  A nurse entered and offered me a cup of cold water, which I accepted gratefully. She said there were papers I must sign before I go, but I could stay as long as I felt necessary. Then, as the girl departed, the figure of a large lady with gray hair entered. I blinked my wet eyes, and to my surprise, recognized Doctor Marg in front of me.

  “I didn’t expect you.”

  “It is only a coincidence I am here today,” she replied. “I’m so very sorry for your loss, Mr. Johnson. Actually, in a way, our loss.”

  She came to me and gave me a hug.

  “Since my retirement, I stop by once a week to see how the new owners are doing. One of the girls told me you were here. I did look at the test results and X-rays. They were correct. There was nothing medical science could do for Trooper.”

  “Your opinion always mattered to me, doctor,” I mumbled.

  “You made the right decision. I’ve watched so many pets leave us during my career. The loss is always devastating to the owner. This one hurts me. You two, your relationship was so unique. I don’t think your situation could ever be duplicated. I wouldn’t recommend anyone to try to accomplish . . .” She paused, then continued. “You two had a wonderful adventure. Someone else may not be successful.”

  “Thank you for all you have done for us over the years. I’ve been wanting to say that.”

  “We must remember,” she continued after taking in a deep breath, “everything we have is only loaned to us for a while. Be happy for all the fun you two had.”

  We hugged a farewell. While signing papers at the reception desk they told me the bill would be mailed to my home. I appreciated that small consideration. A nurse attempted to hand me Trooper’s travel crate. I requested they dispose of it. I didn’t want to see it again.

  I sat in the car for several minutes to be sure my hands were no longer shaking. My legs seemed steady, so with blurry eyes I began the drive home.

  I found it difficult to believe that so many years had passed since I made that first drive to inform my wife I had adopted a bobcat kitten. Now I had the obligation to deliver to her a different message. This one would be much more difficult.

  Chiaki was waiting for me, sitting at the kitchen table. When she noticed I did not have the travel crate, she assumed Trooper had remained at the hospital for treatment. I had to find the strength to tell her the truth.

  “Chi,” I began while taking her hand. “He won’t be coming home. They couldn’t save him. He’s gone. He didn’t suffer at all. He just went to sleep.”

  She looked at me, shaking her head.

  “He had a long life, and we had lots of fun together. Let’s try to think about it that way.”

  She broke free from my grasp, covered her face with her hands, and ran towards the bedroom. I went to the kitchen sink and with a wet paper towel wiped my face. I sighed and sat down at the table. My mind was blank for a time, then a funny feeling came over me. I felt that someone was watching. I looked at the window and back door. From where I sat I could see most of the living room area. No one was there.

  The eerie feeling persisted for a minute or two, then I felt comfortable, relaxed as one does in the presence of a good friend.

  Suddenly I heard what at first I thought to be a strange sound. No. It wasn’t strange at all. It was a yap, like a sharp bark. I remembered that sound from long ago. Then I heard the bark again and I blinked my eyes.

  It was the same little bark Trooper had used to get my attention, to call me when he was a kitten. The same bark-like sound his mother and all wild cats use to call their young. But why would I think about that now? Of all the things I remembered about Trooper, why would that thought haunt me when I was so vulnerable?

  Then I was startled by a voice, calling.

  “Johnson!”

  I thought I heard a voice, clearly calling my name; it was not a shout or a whisper, only a muffled sound like one might hear in a dream. Then you awake and discover that no one is near. But you are convinced you heard it.

  I sniffled and looked about the kitchen again. Empty.

  “Chi! Did you call me?” I shouted.

  A long moment of silence, then an answer came from the bedroom.

  “No! I didn’t.”

  The sadness and stress from my loss had pulled me deep into a pit. At that moment I felt I might never crawl out. I didn’t have the strength or will. Was I enjoying the feeling, the wading in my misery down there where breathing becomes difficult?

  I knew the solution. I must pull myself from under the shroud of self-pity.

  The answer to the pain of loss had always been my ability to drift into the comfort of a fantasy world where there would be pleasant thoughts and sweet memories of happy times with Trooper. In that play world we could once again run and tumble together. I needed so desperately to lose myself in memories, to go back to the time I carried that wounded little cat with the big feet out from the wild and into my world.

  Stop it! Get busy with something, I told myself. Save those memories for another time. But how long would the healing take, days or months or years?

  Suddenly I realized that while I was lost in my thoughts, Brother had joined me at the table. He sat at the edge, his large eyes fixed on mine, his head tilted slightly to one side, as if he might be listening to something. But there was no sound at that moment.

  Poor Little B
rother. We had neglected him so much the past few weeks while our attention focused on Trooper and his deteriorating physical condition. We had always held Trooper in higher regard. Like the oldest son, he was special, and he had been with us for many years.

  We were kind to Brother, but Trooper received the most attention.

  Soon Brother would also feel the loss. How could I explain to a simple cat that his hero was gone forever? Could he already know, and not understand?

  “Johnson!”

  There was the voice again! Then I realized, with a strange sensation, no one had called my name. I was feeling it. The voice rippled through me, but with no sound.

  Had the stress, the sadness, been too much? Could I be hallucinating?

  I didn’t notice, but Brother had moved closer and sat inches away, those eyes still staring intently at my face. Then he lay down slowly, placing his head on my outstretched arm, his eyes fixed on me.

  I once read that cats know the feelings of humans. Could Brother sense my sadness?

  I often understood what Trooper was thinking. We would look at one another and I could feel what he wanted to tell me. Our odd but wonderful communication continued until near the end.

  I had never given Brother an equal chance to reach me with his thoughts. I had unintentionally shut him out because of other priorities.

  “Johnson! Touch him!”

  The words were not clear, but still I felt them. I reached and touched Brother’s back, lightly stroking his soft fur. He began to purr.

  And then I understood. The voice came again, comforting me.

  “Johnson, I’m here! Don’t be sad. You’ll learn. He’s really a very fun kitty to know!”

  And he still is.

  Postscript

  ALL THE PEOPLE IN THIS story are real, but some names were changed to protect their privacy.

  Shortly after we lost Trooper our life took a new direction. The days of our profitable gift shop were long gone, and bookings for the desert tour business began to slip. This was in part the result of competitors with larger advertising budgets moving into town.