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This page is dedicated to our cat, Coco - he died some years ago, a victim of a cat-hater who poisoned him. |
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Before we had our daughter Julia, my husband and I wanted a pet to keep us from boring each other to death. I mean, there must be a limit to office gossip that you can take home, right? Or maybe it was my maternal instinct looking for a surrogate child. I don't know. Whatever it was, we both decided a pet cat would do us good.
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We found Coco at PAWS, an animal shelter. There were many cats there, but Coco caught our eye. He was rather aloof, and didn't mix much with the other cats. Maybe that was why he stood out. Or maybe because he looked rather like an aristocratic cougar among the other mottled, striped and ordinary-looking felines. In any case, we took an instant liking to him. We registered our names and signed what looked like adoption papers. Or their equivalent, if there was such a thing. We named him Coco, which we thought appropriately fitted his smoky-brown appearance. Coco was already an adolescent when we got him. So it took a while before he got used to us. He would protest violently if we touched or attempted to handle him. I remember having to lock him in the house for about a week so that he wouldn't run off. For a cat, being locked in the house must have seemed like a terrible punishment.
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At the end of the week, we let him out. I remember the morning well. Coco gently stepped out the door, and tentatively surveyed the surroundings. Then, having ascertained his position and bearings (or whatever it was that cats do), he quickly disappeared. We both thought, as we left for work, that that was it. Either he'd come back later, or he'd revert to his feral instincts and disappear for good.
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When we came back from work later that day, Coco was nowhere to be found. Well, we thought, we'd lost him. It was only while we were having dinner that he turned up, his curiousity fulfilled but his hunger unsated. That was the turning point. From that moment on, Coco knew this was his home and we were his to do his bidding. Coco gradually accepted us, and began to sleep together with us on our bed. He would sometimes snuggle up at my feet, sometimes between my husband and I, but always together with us.
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As Coco matured, he began to leave the house at night to wander around the neighborhood and do his cat thing, whatever that was. But he always did that after we were fast asleep, or after he thought we were fast asleep. He'd always snuggle up to us first, purring contentedly for a couple of hours before leaving by the bedroom window that we had conveniently left open for him to slip out through.
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And he would always be back well before dawn. He would sneak back into the house and lie down just outside our bedroom door, patiently waiting to greet my husband with curt "meow" when my husband opened the bedroom door in the morning. Such was our blissful if uneventful life, before the tragedy. It happened on a Friday. It was such an ordinary Friday that I had no notion of what lay in store. When I came back from work, I saw Coco lying motionless on the patio floor. I thought he was merely sleeping, but it was very unlike him. Then I noticed that he was very stiff, like a lifeless toy. I knew at once something was wrong. There was excrement around him, and liquid - perhaps vomit - had oozed out of his mouth. My Coco was dead! Our Coco was dead! Our neighbor's cat had died in a similar manner, some weeks before - suspected to have been poisoned by some cat-hater. I could only presume that Coco was a victim of the same sick person. When I found Coco, rigor mortis had set in, so he must have been dead for several hours. I couldn't bear to think what his final moments must have been, as the poison tore at his innards and slowly took his life away from him. But I believe whoever did that to Coco will get his just punishment in due time. My dear Coco - I cherish the memories of the short but beautiful time that Hamed and I had with you. I'm sure you are now romping merrily in that happy hunting ground in the sky. |
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