Coco
Coco arrived early one Saturday morning. A soft and fluffy young tabby with white patches and a short upright tail, she bounced around my apartment like Winnie the Pooh’s excitable friend Tigger.
Stopping in her tracks in front of the slightly open, wall to ceiling window, her eyes widen and she sniffs the air. Coco hesitantly touched her paw to the pane of glass and as I open it she ducked under the frame and onto the cat safe balcony. She immediately disappeared before reappearing at the top of the cat tree and peering down at the street below. Eventually she settled at the base of the Japanese Maple curling her body around the slender trunk. When it was time for me to go on out I gathered her up and carried her inside, closing the window behind her. Coco was not pleased and burrowed under a blanket making a cat shape on the sofa and falling fast asleep. By the time I returned from my trip Coco had woken up and found herself alone in a strange place. Having forgotten all the fun we’d had just a few hours before she eyed me with increasing suspicion from underneath the sofa. It was a while before she popped up beside me on the arm of the chair, ducking down then appearing again at my shoulder to give me a subtle sniff. Later she curled around my feet and snuggled between my slippers and dozed off.
That night she walked around the flat gently mewing, lamenting the familiarity of the things she missed and the absence of her owner. If I came too close she’d proffer me a clawless swat and a soundless hiss. She would follow me from room to room at a distance, still unsure if I was friend or foe but hating to be left alone.
Coco is much to bouncy a cat to stay down for long and the next day she settles down next to me on the sofa and is following me everywhere . She appears instantly when I call her and when she is not being entertained she falls fast asleep.When guests arrive she takes centre stage, hopping onto sofas to inspect them and rubbing her cheeks against their legs.
