We are back to being a four-cat family.

 

With our oldest, Abby being 15 years old, Baxter being 14 and Daisy being 12, it was presumed by Terri and I that we had maybe three-to-five years left of our trio of kitties before we were to be “empty-nesters”. With life-expectancy for indoor cats to be anywhere from 12-18, we were sure we were gonna be pet-less by the early 2020’s.

 

One frigid January night changed everything.

 

While watching TV with my lovely bride a few weeks back, we heard some commotion on our porch and I went to investigate. There, looking majestically handsome in the cool daylight was a long-haired, brown and white cat. He meowed as I edged open the door and quickly galloped to my feet just as I exited the home.

 

That face. That quiet meow. That muted purr. How could anyone leave this gorgeous kitty outside in the cold?

 

The temperature that evening was in the 20’s and he looked in fine condition (other than a scrape along his back) and I immediately thought it might be a neighbor’s cat. He was so affectionate and gentle as I picked him up and I could feel some of his fur was matted and unkempt.

 

I returned to our house and brought out some treats for him and he devoured it almost before the bits hit the porch floor. I went back in the home and opened a can of cat food and put that out and he attacked the food like the shark from Jaws on Quint.

 

In the back of my mind I cared for the little guy but again — I thought he was a neighbor’s cat out for a stroll. And the fact we already had three cats that were living in relative harmony.

 

The next evening, Terri and I were watching TV again and we heard some  soft growling and screeching from the porch. I opened the door to find the long-haired cat cornered by another cat who I knew was a neighbor’s cat. The long-haired cat turned and ran up to me while the other stray took off as I approached.

 

The temperature this night was undoubtedly colder and the forecast was for below zero degree temperatures overnight. As I picked up the kitty, I noticed small snowballs hanging from his fur and he was trembling. His little nose was scraped and his eyes looked a little desolate.

 

I just couldn’t return him to the tundra that night, even though I knew he probably wasn’t clean and may have some sort of disease, parasite or infection I couldn’t afford to have transmitted to our three indoor cats. So I took him to our bedroom’s bathroom and made him a little home.

 

We gave him some more canned food and he again practically swallowed it whole. We put some water out and he gulped it down, then we spread a blanket to keep him warm.

 

A couple days later, we took him into the vet to have him checked out and to see if he was “chipped” and owned by someone else. He was scanned, but they found no chip, which really surprised us. They took his stool sample and checked his vitals, his teeth and ears and the only thing they could find that was wrong was he had ear mites. Otherwise, the vet said, he was in fine shape and appeared to be about nine months old to a year.

 

When we carried him to the front desk, one of the techs gave us some cat treats and I poured them out on the counter where he gobbled them up. As I handed the cat to Terri, the feline used his canines to chomp on her finger and cause blood to gush forth (we later realized he was starving and the fingers looked and smelled like treats). She handed the little guy to me to retreat for a bandage and he chomped on my finger, causing more blood to spill onto the vet floor.

 

We crated him for the ride home and when we arrived in Big Lake, we stopped and bought some kitten chow for the little guy. We poured a bowl-full of the vittles and — again — he wolfed the food down. While he ate, we shut the door and went down to the living room to relax. About an hour later we returned to his sanctuary and, “snap”, just like that, he was a changed cat. Instead of acting wildly and nipping and biting at fingers, he was mellow and affectionate and seemed to have decompressed.

 

I remember while at the vet, they asked if we had named him and we said, “no”. Terri and I had thrown out at least 50 possible names, but nothing seemed to stick. The vet tech said, “maybe you should name him after a famous celebrity or something,” so I immediately started running names of classic actors through my mind...Cary...nope...Stewart...nope...Cooper — hmmm, that one’s cute, I thought.

 

I shared the name with Terri and she said, “that’s the one!”

 

You know what they say about naming animals — as soon as you do they are yours. 

 

I guess Cooper was meant to be our kitty. I remembered seeing that same cat on our property two other times over the summer and fall, so I’m sure he was choosing us and not the other way around.

 

How could anyone say no to that face?