Cooper has complained that he has not been mentioned in a column lately. He’s been quite perturbed and does not understand that he cannot be in the column every week.
I have tried explaining to him that readers want something new each week and don’t want to read about the same thing in every column. I nicely explained that the column was not a cat column and most cats, as far as I knew, did not even read the newspaper. I don’t know if that’s because they can’t read or most cats prefer to get their news from online sources.
Cooper says he prefers the newspaper because he gets mentioned in it from time to time. When I explained the column is also available online, he walked away. I don’t know if this was because he does not like online content, does not have internet access, or simply wanted to go to the living room to sit in front of the television and bathe his undercarriage.
Cooper has a hard time understanding that, as a cat, he doesn’t really do anything interesting. Cats, as designed, are self-sufficient animals that really could give a hoot about contact with people.
A day in the life of Cooper consists of a lot of sleeping, a little eating, some more sleeping, a little more eating, a litter-box break, and some more sleeping. He does have a little cradle that he sleeps in. It belonged to a doll that my wife had many years ago. The doll has been long since gone, so Cooper has claimed the cradle as his. When he is not eating or going in the litter box, he can be found in his cradle by the window. If he’s not looking out the window, he’s sleeping. That’s about it.
Cooper is awake when I leave for work, and I can get some belly rubs in before I leave the house. I’m actually the one doing the rubbing of the belly, not the other way around. Cooper is soft and fluffy and enjoys belly rubs. I am not and I do not. I spend about 10 minutes or so before leaving the house hanging out with Cooper. The rest of the day, he spends ignoring my wife. He does this pretty well most of the day, until dinner time when he comes out of the bedroom and looks at my wife until she feeds him.
Cooper is largely Maine Coon, and Maine Coons don’t meow like other cats. Cooper is largely silent. He will make a little chirp now and again, and he will hiss if you make him angry. However, most of the time he slinks around the house imagining he is a panther or some other jungle cat. This is his domain and we just live in it. Cooper likes to think he’s a jungle cat, but he’s afraid of the carpet in our guest room. Somewhere along the way, someone must have told him it was lava. He just won’t go in there. He will look in from the hallway, with his big yellow eyes as if there is some kind of mystery in the room. It’s a room with a bed and a couple of tables. That’s it.
In the last few days, Cooper has taken to curling up in my lunch box. Cooper is a 16-pound cat and I have a large lunch box. Last night, I threatened to zip the lunch box closed and take Cooper to work with me. Imagine my co-worker’s surprise when, at noon time, I take out a ham sandwich, a Coke, a bag of chips, two cookies, and a 16-pound cat. I’m sure Cooper would enjoy his day at work as much as the vet visit when the vet wears those rubber gloves.
So, this should pacify Cooper. He is in the paper again. Hopefully, I’ll be free to write about what I want to write about for the next few months until Cooper gets restless again. He asked me to also tell the readers that I will not be writing about Hobbs, the cat next door because he is, (and I quote) an “uncivilized ginger idiot.”
Stay tuned for next week’s column which will feature a rebuttal from an uncivilized ginger idiot. If Hobbs is not available, I will ask for a comment from comedian Carrot Top.
Joe Weaver, a native of Baltimore, is a husband, father, pawnbroker and gun collector. From his home in New Bern, he (usually) writes on the lighter side of family life.
