Pumpkin Patch

            Dry November leaves scuttled along the driveway as I pulled the storm window down in my dining room. I shivered from the cold air and thought about the chores that still needed to be done to prepare, not only for Thanksgiving, which was coming in five days, but what needed to be done while my kids were on their Thanksgiving school break.  There were more storm windows to pull down, flannel sheets to put on beds and school books that needed to be re-covered, their September grocery bag wrappings now ripped in places.  I paid the pizza man for the pies he delivered and sat down with the kids to eat.  I felt somewhat guilty about calling for take-out on that Saturday evening, but it had been a busy day for all of us.  I'd had to pick up Rosie, fifteen, from a sleepover, take the boys to their separate basketball games and watch the matches and cheer them on.  Then home again for showers and laundry.  As we started eating we heard a strange sound coming from our back door.  It sounded like a bird chirping, but it was dusk and a bit late for birds to be out of their nests.  We kept eating and the noise continued. One of the kids went to the door and flipped the porch light on.

            "It's a kitten!"

            Before I could say, "Whaaat?" – all three kids were at the door.

            "Can we bring it in?"

            "Can we keep it?"

            "We have to save it, it's cold outside!"

            I went to look out the door.  The noise it had made certainly didn't sound catlike, but there it was, in the back door light, a little gray kitten.

            "Well, we can see if..."

            The door flew open and out went the kids in their stocking feet.

           "Wait!” I hollered following them. "Shoes and jackets first!" But they had already startled the kitten and were chasing it into the back yard.

            I soon joined them, shoeless and jacketless as well, and found them crouched down by the back stairs.

            "He ran in here, look!" they cried.  Somehow I had managed to grab a flashlight on the way out and turned it on.  There was the poor little kitten, curled up in terror, mewing/chirping with fear.

            "Ok guys, we have to look around first and see if its mother is here." I said.

            "Why, Why? Why?" came the replies.

            "Well, look how little it is. It might not be weaned yet."

            "What's weaned?" asked ten-year-old Alex.

            It was too cold for a science lesson so I said,

            "It might not be ready to leave its mother. Lets see if she is around.”

            We got another flashlight and looked all around the house.  There was no Mom around.

            "Can I grab it?" Rosie asked, already working her arm through the lattice that surrounded the porch."

            "Ya, if you can, it's too cold out tonight." I heard myself say.

            "Hooray!" the kids cried. Rosie snatched it and we moved up the back stairs.  We weren't even in the house before she started saying, "OOOOuch, ouch, ouch!" as the kitten bit and scratched at her. She put it down once we were in the house and it bolted for cover under the desk in our little study area. 

            I had finally got some sense in my head back, and said, "Okay, okay let's all settle down and leave the kitten alone.  Lets take off these damp, dirty socks and get some clean ones on and finish supper."

            "Can we keep it, can we keep it, can we keep it?" they asked.

            "Well, I don't know, maybe. First off, Steve is allergic to cats, so we'll have to tell him and ask him and second we'll have to see if the kitten's mother is around tomorrow and finally, we'll have to see if anyone has lost a cat." There, reasonable Mom was back.

            "So, we'll keep him! Hooray!" said Mac who, even at twelve, knew me better than I knew myself.  He'd figured out early on that my "maybe" nearly always meant, "yes."

            I heard Steve coming down the stairs from his office, and Alex said, "Let's not tell him, and see if he notices!"

            So we all went on eating while he walked into the room.

            "What's up?" he asked.

            "Nothing, hon. we're just having some pizza and..."

            "Why do you all look so strange?”

            "We found a kitten outside and it’s under the desk right now!" blurted Alex.

            "What, where is it? I'm allergic to cats, you know."

            "But it's so cute and maybe you won't be allergic to it." said Mac.

            "Here,” I said handing a plate to Steve, knowing that a hungry Steve is a grumpy Steve, “eat some pizza first and then we'll show you."  Suddenly, I realized that despite my rational words, I wanted to keep the kitten, too.

After supper, we put some cheese on a plate and put it down by the desk along with a little bowl of milk.  When the kitten finally came out of hiding and Steve saw it, he said, "It is pretty cute.  I guess I can see if my allergies act up!"

            "Hooray!” cried the kids, and inside, I said a little "Hooray" myself.  We were on our way to cat ownership!

            The next day, Rosie and I went to the pet store to buy some supplies for our new houseguest.  I had picked up the kitten and after a quick glance between its legs, determined it was a girl.  At breakfast, the subject of a name for the kitten had come up.  I repeated my earlier warnings of, "Don't get too attached...someone might be looking for her...plus we need a clean bill of health from the Vet."  No one was listening, so I finally said, "Rosie should name her because she was the one who finally caught her. What do you think, honey?"

            "Well, I don't really know!"

            "How about something to do with autumn, or Thanksgiving since it's coming in a few days?"

            "Something like apples or how about Pumpkin?" she asked.

            "Pumpkin it is!"  I said.

            Pumpkin didn't seem too enthused about her name, or anything else for that matter, and stayed under the desk most of the day, hissing and clawing at anyone who came close to her. The dairy products that we had fed her had given her diarrhea, too. Great.

            Rosie and I went to the pet store to buy supplies and decided upon a pink bowl, pink litter box, litter, cat shampoo and some kitten food.  We gave a quick look at the store bulletin board, just to make sure that no one had posted a “lost kitten” note.  No one had. Now we just had to check the local Seven Eleven store for notices and then I would take her to see the Vet early in the week.

            I would take her to the Vet, that is, if I could catch her!  Steve and I tried to give her a cat bath in the sink and that went over like a fart in church!  She clawed and bit and hissed like we were killing her!  She sunk, and I do mean sunk, her claws into my neck and shoulders while trying to escape from us.   Her kitty claws were like small fishhooks that hurt going in and coming out of my skin.  After her bath, we finally got her into a small area of our kitchen that could be closed off by half-doors.  We put her dish and litter box inside.  We could all look over the doors and watch her from a safe distance, as she continued hissing and scratching at anyone who got too close to her.

            The next day, Monday, Pumpkin escaped from her enclosure and ran into our downstairs powder room. That was a problem since my boys needed to use the sink to brush their teeth and wash up for school.  We were still terrified of the little animal and no one wanted to go into the bathroom!  The boys lined up and waited for Steve and Rosie to finish in the upstairs bath.  Once the kids caught their school busses, I decided that I had to face this furry, little terror head on.  I went into the bathroom and shut the door.  Pumpkin continued to hiss and try to claw at me whenever I reached for her. Finally, I just grabbed her and put her onto my shoulder like one would with any baby.  Her claws were out and into my neck, but slowly she withdrew them and began to purr, of all things!  She nuzzled into my neck and purred like- well, like a kitten! Steve came downstairs on his way out to work and was amazed at the transformation from killer kitty to kitty cat!  I was beginning to feel that this relationship might work out after all!  I held her nearly all morning, putting her down and then picking her up again and interrupted her when she was eating just to make sure that she wouldn't scratch the kids if they did that. She was being so gentle that I decided to find and call a Veterinarian.  I found a doctor that was only about two miles from home and called his phone number.

            "Hello," I said. "I found a lost kitten over the weekend and wanted to bring her to see the doctor to make sure she's healthy and doesn't have that feline leukemia virus that I've heard about."

            "Very well," replied the secretary, "Name?"

            "Jackie Kearins."

            "Ah, no- the cat's name please?"

            "Oh! Pumpkin."

            "Last name?"

            Geez, last name? What to say?

            "Pie," I said.

            "No ma'am," I could hear her laughing, "your last name please!"

            Oh God, this was going to be a long day and it didn't get much better when I brought the kitten into their office.  The Vet said, first of all, Pumpkin was a boy, not a girl, and that he was feral and probably about five weeks old. He also had fleas, worms and ear mites. The doctor drew some blood for the leukemia test and gave Pumpkin immunizations and a flea and mite treatments and sent me home, about $100.00 later, with medication to de-worm him.  Yuk!

            First I told the kids that we had to wait one more day to make sure Pumpkin's blood tests were okay, before we were certain that we could keep him; and secondly, that "she" was actually a "he."

            The kids only seemed to hear the second part.

            "We're gonna have to change it's name!" declared Alex.

            "Why? What's wrong with 'Pumpkin'?" asked Rosie.

            "Well it's obviously a girls name,” said Mac.

            "Well, how about something like Pumpkin?" I offered. "Maybe like 'Pumpkin Patch'?"

            So, in that moment, Pumpkin became Patch and the kids thoroughly enjoyed being able to finally hold him and pass him around and he officially became part of the family, just like that.

            Over the next few days, when I realized that Patch was going to be more work than I expected, I began to doubt our decision to keep him.  Especially when I had to scoop wormy poop out of his litter box! Yuk!  I had actually begun to doubt my judgment when we were at the Vet's office. How did I miss the fact that "she" was actually a "he?” I had determined the sex of hundreds of mice, gerbils and hamsters in my work as a research technician, and yet with Patch, I had missed a large set of balls right under his tail!  What the hell?

            As the warm fuzziness of pet ownership began to wear off, I was heartened to see that the kids loved Patch, treated him gently, and that Steve's allergies hadn't activated too badly. In fact, Patch loved Steve and would stretch his ever-growing body along Steve's long legs in front of the TV every night.  He would also sit on the boys’ laps, but only rarely on Rosie's and never on mine.  “Thanks a lot, Patch!” we both thought, having done most of the work for him thus far.

            That first Thanksgiving was a lot of fun with the kitten, and the holidays thereafter as well.  I (of course) bought Patch his own Christmas stocking, and he was given several little toys to play with. Soon, they were everywhere!  I had thought that I was finally past the point of finding a Lego piece in my shoe, only to have a little catnip mouse appear in my sneaker and toys strewn all over the floor-again!  I had to realize that there was a new baby in the house!

            Patch did all of the usual cat things and then some. He is a tremendous jumper and can jump higher than anyone can imagine.  He runs out of the house, routinely, but only when I am coming in the door, generally carrying bags of groceries.  I think that my chasing him out in the yard has become a game to him.  I'll have to go out and get him day or night, rain or shine.  The only time that he might reconsider running outside is when there is six inches of snow on the stairs. He loves people, especially men who smell of cigarette smoke. 

            Some people think that cats are reincarnated loved ones who have come back into our lives in a new form.  We're pretty certain that Patch is Steve's father, Harry, who had died the August before Patch came calling. Patch/Harry likes to be in the middle of things and has to have his opinion heard.  If someone comes in to repair something, Patch will jump right up on the table, into the worker's paperwork and seemingly examine the plans or estimates while commenting in his cat voice, "Yak, yak, yak," as if to say, "This is wrong or this is too expensive,” just like Harry would.  If Steve or I holler at the kids, Patch will speak up again, as if saying, "Leave the kids alone.  You were a pain in the ass at that age too!"

            So, yes, I have become an old cat lady!    Cat ownership has sent me around the mental bend. Steve says that I've lost at least one IQ point for every year that we've had Patch, which is going on eleven years now.  I argue that he's wrong, that I'm merely interacting with the cat, but I do talk to him all of the time, give him cat treats every night, apologize for waking him up to brush him, but so what? Patch gets more and more attention each time one of my kids goes off to college. Alex, the youngest will graduate from college next May. So the nest has grown empty and we have all grown older.

             Patch has eased the way a bit, by being a good friend and companion.  When I was diagnosed with Lupus several years ago, he would nap with me and stay nearby. Two years ago, he became very sick and I feared that we would lose him- but he improved at first, with hand feeding and finally with daily prednisone, to help his irritable bowel disease.   

            Patch and I are about the same age now.  His cat years add up to fifty-six human years and I am fifty-seven.  Since his illness, my lap is the only one that he will lay on.  At first I thought it was his new devotion to me, recognition of my having taken such good care of him when he was ill. Before long, I realized that it was probably just because of my having hand fed him for those two weeks.  But who cares? 

             Now as a tropical rain cools our home and the promise of autumn is in the air, we sit, Patch and I.  He on my knee with his paw on my arm and I with my hand stroking his soft, gray fur. We will watch as the earth shrugs off her hot, humid summer and will observe the falling cascades of multicolored leaves.  Soon it will be Thanksgiving again and Pumpkin Patch, Steve and I will be waiting to welcome our kids home, the way that we once welcomed him.

~ ~ ~

Biographical Note: Jackie Kearins was born and raised in Massachusetts.  She studied Medical Assisting in college and has worked in doctor’s offices, clinical hospital and basic research laboratories ever since.   In 2005, Jackie left her profession to become a full-time homemaker. She began taking an autobiographical writing class in January 2009.   She lives in the Philadelphia suburbs with her husband, three children and two cats. See Author Index Prose A-K for more of Jackie's stories.