Which seems appropriate, since he was named after the Cooper River, and...(wait for it)...we finally moved back to the Lowcountry after eight years of being away. Yep, I quit my job, got a job working from home, found a home on Hilton Head Island, SC, and off we went. Well, sort of. It wasn't without some hiccups.
Take the part where Cooper ran away, for example. It happens so often it's almost a cliche now...the cat who gets lost or runs away right as a family is trying to move. It's a particularly vulnerable time for cats, partially because they like routine and order and the chaos of a move terrifies them, and partially because they're really REALLY good at hiding. So every now and again, you hear about the cat who made the cross-country trip in a crockery box because nobody noticed she was in there when they taped the box up and threw it on the moving truck. Five days and two thousand miles later, they open the box after thinking they've said goodbye to their friend forever and there she is, dehydrated, famished, but otherwise none the worse for wear.
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| Don't forget me! |
Nothing so dramatic happened with Cooper, but it was plenty dramatic enough for me, thank you very much. Sean and I had just survived the first day of moving--the part where we and the hired movers had moved all the big stuff into the enormous van--when we found out that there were still two more items of paperwork that had to be signed before we could close on our new house the next day. So, we piled into the car and headed to the local FedEx store because (of course) our computers and printer were already on the truck. When we got back, Sean made a horrific discovery: apparently the movers hadn't completely closed the basement door. And now the door was standing wide open. An immediate head count was taken. Mister...Wanda...Otto...Reggie...Zelda...no Cooper. My blood ran cold. We were pulling out of the driveway TOMORROW and Cooper is GONE?!? To make a very long story short, we spent the next several hours yelling for him, putting out mush, driving around the neighborhood, even calling our pet communicator. No Cooper. Our fantastic next-door neighbors came out to help, searching with flashlights and calling his name soothingly over and over. No dice.
So, that was it. I was convinced he wasn't coming back--I don't know why. I put a sleeping bag outside on the deck though, just in case, and curled up in it, bracing for a long night. A few hours later, after I'd apparently dozed off for a minute, I heard Sean calling to me urgently from the other side of the door, where he was sleeping on the floor with Otto. Cooper was right beside me, looking at me like, "what's up? Did you give up looking for me?" I woke up enough to realize what was happening, and lunged for him. He skittered away. All of a sudden, I realized...he thinks he's playing with me. He's playing the most terrifying game of hide and seek I've ever been party to. Sean came outside and managed to lure Cooper to him, then scooped him up and we spirited him inside. Sean got about five really good serious scratches for his trouble, but once again, I was deeply appreciative that (once again) Sean had been able to catch our buddy when I hadn't been able to do so.
Sean ended up having to take the truck down to the beach by himself, since we'd spent most of the night looking for Cooper instead of doing the last-minute packing that would probably have taken us all night. I stayed behind another night to do said packing. Then the next day, I loaded up six (gulp) cats into the xB (yes, they even got their own separate carriers), and down the road we went, caterwauling all the way. Not me, mind you. It took about an hour of six cats all screaming simultaneously before I finally joined in. Okay, not really. But it could have happened.
But all's well that ends well. Cooper has only run away once since we moved here (yay?). Zelda has taken to her new digs with utter abandon. She loves life, she's having a blast playing with toys and running around the house, she loves playing with Cooper. I've never seen her so relaxed. Reggie stopped being scared of going outside. (I may not have mentioned that part earlier...) Mister has been galloping all over the house excitedly, belying his eighteen-plus years. All of the buddies have taken to buddy-strolling like ducks to water. Did I mention we have big birds (heron, egrets, anhingas, but no ducks yet) in our pond in our backyard? Those have been fun for them, too.
So, Cooper's breath smells of pluff mud, but, in truth, it already did before we moved to the Lowcountry. It's funny, it's a stinky smell, and lots of people would probably turn up their noses at it, or hold them at least. But I love the smell of Cooper's breath, and the Lowcountry. It feels like home now. Smelling his stinky breath means he's still with me, and we can still rub our faces together. It means Cooper is safe in the bosom of his family. I wouldn't want it smelling any other way.
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