It was time. After living in my laundry room for over two months, the orange tabby cat, Pumpkin, was ready. I carried him to the back door and gently set him down on the deck. What happened next was entirely up to Pumpkin.
My first sight of the big handsome cat, some three months ago, was but a flash of orange sinew and muscle torpedoing from beneath the deck in pursuit of my Miniature Pinscher/Rat Terrier pup, Sprite. Before I could react, my daughter's dog, the medium-size Fox Terrier/Labrador we call Lei Lei, had swiftly turned the tide by chasing Pumpkin into a line of trees.
The next day, the cat boldly sauntered across the driveway, daring the dogs to again test his metal. Brazen is the word that comes to mind.
Fast forward to the late, chilly and damp hours of Friday, April 6, where my husband discovered Pumpkin prone and yowling with pain in front of our barn. Somehow, we managed to wedge the over-sized cat into a carrier and as I sped him down the ridge, as he cried out in pain, I began to coo and talk to him.
"Hang in there, Pumpkin. I'm going to get you some help."
Initially, the folks at the twenty-four hour Tanasborne Emergency Veterinary Clinic had not been optimistic. Pumpkin's body temperature had tanked and he appeared to have lost all sensation in his back end. An X-Ray revealed dual breaks in the non-weight bearing portions of the tabby's pelvis. Clearly, Pumpkin had tangled with a car or truck. I made a donation toward the cat's care and promised to phone the next morning.
Miraculously, Pumpkin survived the night. While his hindquarters were only marginally useable, they were responsive. Pumpkin's prognosis went from poor to guardedly optimistic.
The area that I live in is mostly acreage properties, so driving door to door I began the search for Pumpkin's people. At the fifth house, I met a man who claimed to own two orange tabby cats, both neutered males, but when I described Pumpkin, the man insisted the injured cat was not his. Hedging my bets, I convinced the fellow to take my phone number.
On the Sunday following Pumpkin's injury, I visited him at the clinic and snapped a photo used to create a flier. I then forwarded the flier to our local animal shelter and our area Craig's List lost and found. Pumpkin's mug was hung at the local post office, library, gas station, coffee cabana, and two veterinary clinics. As the days wore on, I stuffed area mailboxes, hoping to generate a lead or two. Nothing.
At the end of a full week, Pumpkin was ready to come home. Unfortunately, I couldn't afford him. His tab at the emergency clinic was a thousand dollars, well beyond my means. Thankfully, the head veterinarian was willing to work with me, bestowing a "Good Samaritan" discount. Looking back, it seems crazy. I paid an additional hundred dollars for a cat with a broken pelvis, one that needed some heavy duty drugs and six to eight weeks of cage rest.
Back home, my husband and I converted a large dog carrier to Pumpkin's recovery pad. His new digs had featured a low profile litter box and plenty of soft towel bedding. Initially, Pumpkin was allowed to free range in the laundry room six to eight times a day for five or ten supervised minutes. I syringed pain medication between the sidewalls of his mouth and gums four times a day and plunged a kitty laxative into him twice daily.
You may think I'm crazy when I tell you this, but as I cared for Pumpkin, I sensed his gratitude. Perhaps it was in his gaze, his gorgeous big green eyes, or the way he motored his appreciation with a sonorous purr.
Two-and-a-half weeks after I brought Pumpkin home from the emergency clinic, my phone rang and a woman told me I might have her cat. My heart had nearly stopped and my mind was a jumble of questions. Why had it taken so long for someone to call? Was this indeed the cat's owner?
To make a long story short, the woman did indeed identify Pumpkin as being her cat. Interestingly, she lived at the fifth house, the one I had visited the day after Pumpkin had been struck by a car, the one where the man had been very certain that the injured cat was not his.
Over the course of the next two weeks, I went from caring for Pumpkin while his owners went on vacation to agreeing to become his new purrson. Since his previous owners had difficulty justifying the time and money required to fully rehabilitate a cat, Pumpkin had, on his twenty-fifth day of living at my house, officially become my cat.
It's been a good arrangement. I love the big orange tabby cat and he loves me.
Yesterday, I took Pumpkin to the Bonnie Hays Small Animal Shelter in
Hillsboro, where the veterinarian inserted a microchip. Since I can't keep a collar on the big tabby -- he's an escape artist -- the microchip is added insurance. If something happens to Pumpkin, the odds of me knowing about it are a lot better now.
It was time. So this morning, when I set Pumpkin on the deck and he looked around before casually sauntered off, my heart skipped a little and I thought "this may be the last time I see you." Pumpkin might, after all, have chosen to return to his previous home.
While I worked around the ranch caring for the various animals, I had hoped Pumpkin was nearby. Early afternoon, my spider senses detected his gaze. Using nothing more than instinct, I allowed myself to be drawn to the lattice-work door that leads to the space beneath the deck. There, I found two luminous green eyes watching me.
I opened the door and Pumpkin stepped out into the light. Then, he proceeded to caboose me, meowing loudly. He followed me all the way to the front door, where I gently lifted and carried him to the laundry room.
Pumpkin at rest on the clothes dryer after his big day outside...
After today, I've no doubt that Pumpkin will always come home.
