Goodbye Pumpkin

Pumpkin and the rest of the litter of kittens were born under a pile of limbs and cutdown brush.  They crawled out from under that pile and found refuge in between the wrought iron fence on the back side of our property and the wooden fence of our neighbor.  This photo of Pumpkin and her sister Hobo Kitty was taken on May 17, 2010.

We called them all Hobo Kitties at one time.  We suspected that the first Hobo Kitty must have placed an X on our driveway, letting wandering feral kitties know they could find a safe place to stay, get a free meal, fresh water and people who didn’t mind having them temporarily take up residence in their garage or backyard.  Most of the time we’d find out the Hobo Kitties were about to have a litter and needed a place right away. 

One time we heard muted kitten noises coming from the attic above our garage.  Following the noises we discovered several fur balls and brought them down so they could be taken care of.  Another time we heard muted kitten noises coming from a pile of cut down tree limbs that we had stacked along the back fence.  This was where we found yet another batch of Hobo Kitties, the litter from which we eventually obtained Pumpkin.

Being responsible individuals, we’d capture these Hobo Kitties, take them to the veterinarian for Rabies Shots; but more importantly, to have them neutered or spayed.  There were already plenty of Hobo Kitties wandering the neighborhood, no reason to keep adding to that issue. Each time we did this the Hobo Kitties would come back with the tip of their ear snipped off.  It was explained that this was how to distinguish feral cats that had been “fixed” from those who were not.

Most of the Hobo Kitties would remain feral, wander off and we’d lose track of them.  Some of them remained close by and would visit from time to time.  Every rare now and then one would become domesticated and had decided that wandering the neighborhood wasn’t nearly as good as living inside our home.  Pumpkin took the latter and claimed our house as her own, making sure her sister stayed outside; it was Pumpkin’s house and she wasn’t sharing it.

When we moved to our house in the country, Pumpkin chose to come with us, leaving with the people she had grown attached to.  That was almost nine years ago and it turned out the reason Pumpkin came with us had to do with our bed.  Pumpkin claimed the corner of the bed next to my pillow as her favorite spot.  When making the bed each morning I’d make sure both pillows were offset towards the far side, leaving Pumpkin’s Place carefully prepared so she could take a nap lasting the entire day. 

You may have guessed by now, Pumpkin was one of my girlfriends, the kind Lucy lets me have.  Pumpkin knew she wasn’t my only girlfriend; but figured she was my Number One girlfriend over the others who might be permitted to live in our house.

Shadow Puppy, Elsa (aka: Little Bit) and Thumper are also listed as girlfriends.  Max and Harold are just male Puppies who they put up with.  They all get along, mostly, and put together, we are a happy family.

For the past month or so we’ve noticed Pumpkin beginning to show her age, not being able to hold down her food and throwing up during the nighttime hours.  We’d have to be careful walking down the hall, spotting a mess prior to stepping in it, cleaning it up and wondering how Pumpkin could survive without keeping nutrients in her system.

This past week we noticed the loss of weight, to an extreme, as she no longer could jump onto the bed and had to settle for the bathmat next to Lucy’s sink in the bathroom.  Saturday, she stopped drinking water and I knew it was time to say goodbye.  It being Memorial Day weekend made it more difficult to watch Pumpkin’s body fade, her ability to get comfortable took much longer.

This morning I placed an older bath towel in a box as I convinced myself that I could transport Pumpkin to the vet.  Lucy said goodbye as best she could as I drove off.  I’ll leave it at that, the trip home without Pumpkin left me wondering about the “humane thing to do”, the act of ending a life.  I’d rubbed the place on Pumpkin’s head, the spot where she enjoyed being touched as she was in the box, the box awaiting the vet to finish her life. I plead guilty to having let my emotions become fragile, for letting a Hobo Kitty enter my heart and breaking it.