Hopper Retriever

Hopper was my first cat, ever. I hated cats, but the apartment I lived in at the time (and all the others since) didn’t allow dogs, so my then husband convinced me to adopt a cat. She was six months old when she came to live with me and was an only cat for the next seven months.

Obviously I didn’t hate cats as much as I thought because I fell in love with her immediately. She was like a little baby, a cat baby. Then, she surprised me when she started playing fetch!

She had a fur-covered toy called a ferret that looked nothing like a ferret, unless it was one that was headless, tailless, and legless. When she decided it was playtime, she would drop the toy at my feet and look at me expectantly. I’d toss the ferret, she’d chase after it, “kill” it, then bring it back. I repeated as needed.

That was nine years ago. After three additional cats, two moves, a divorce, and two fewer cats (went with the ex), Hopper stopped playing this game.

Today, she inititated it. I rolled up the tin foil wrapping from a piece of pizza and set it on my desk for not even a second, I swear. From her usual perch above the printer, she batted it.

I thought, why not? I tossed it across the kitchen floor. As I expected, she chased after it and “killed” it, then surprised me by bringing it back halfway. I tossed the aluminum ball a few more times before she finally retrieved it and dropped it at my feet just ilke old times.

Then two of the boys woke up and sauntered over to check things out, and I couldn’t get her to play again. I’ll keep trying, though.