Someone To Watch Over Me
A light touch against my forearm indicates it is time to get up. I protest, resting my head. There is no gentle touch this time, but he contends as an unrelenting coach. “It’s time. It’s time. UP, UP, he protests in return. “Feet on the floor.’ “Eyes open.” ” Look alert.” At least, that is what his persistence communicates. With my feet on the floor, and sitting on the side of my bed, he quiets himself. I’m awake now. He has done his job, and for the next couple of hours, I’ll get more work done than if I had risen at 10 am.
He arrived at my door about a week early, around 10:30 pm. Just a kitten of eight weeks, found wandering by a dumpster. His caretaker, on an emergency run, had brought him along. Upon meeting him, the first traits I notice are timidity and anxiety beyond reason????, but I like him. He reminded me of myself when I was a child. It is the middle of the pandemic and he has come to join my “quarantine ” to dissuade the loneliness, boredom, and mental duress that isolation brings.
We venture outside and sit on the porch a few weeks into his stay. He does not like the outside. The cars, trucks, and buses’ sounds are not pleasing to him. Upon entering the house, he sprints to his hiding spot, a dark corner of the room under my bed, where he can peer and scope out any danger approaching him. His response to this occasion solidifies his name, Scope.
Although he is timid, het?.?.?o protect me. One night I fell asleep with my bedroom door open. He sat just outside the door, keeping watch, allowing no one to approach the door. He overcame his timidity and became someone to watch over me. He seemed to be fully awake throughout the night. When I finally woke and approached the door, he was still alert, and upon seeing me awake, he entered the room, went to his favorite sleeping spot, and disappeared for the rest of the day.
On another occasion, we leveraged our strengths and teamed up. A fly entered through an open window. While I couldn’t detect its path or location, he could scope it out. I rushed to the position of his gaze and knocked the rouge creature to the window sill, where he promptly made a meal of it.
The most recent example of his concern is seen as I recover from a rotator cuff repair. Whenever I exercise or do self-care, remove my arm from the sling, exercise put it back in, or get dressed, he watches my movements. Not quite knowing what I’m doing, but knowing that it is something that he should refrain from interfering with, so he stands a few steps away, watching.
Scope is like other cats in most ways, except he would make a great Olympic volleyball player. Above all his store-bought toys, he prefers to play with a crinkled piece of paper, specifically receipt-type paper. When tossed like a volleyball, he will leap into the air; one arm outstretched, paw flared, diving towards the ball, batting it back across an invisible net. Rarely does he miss. He has assured me this is his favorite recreational activity, as he requests it daily, bringing the makeshift ball to me and waiting for me to notice. When his patience runs out, he pushes it ever so slightly toward me. He then crouches down behind a table leg, box, or cushion as if to say, “I’m ready.”, as he waits for me to throw it.
Hmm. I thought Scope came to watch over me. Instead, he keeps me busy. He keeps me engaged. He keeps me working. We watch over each other. Perhaps one day, I’ll help him overcome his timidity. But for now, it’s 6 am. We’re up early, just enough time to grab a bite and get in a quick match before moving on to work. I’m serving.
