It was another typical mid summer afternoon, and as I stared at the four non-working breathing bodies in my kitchen, I realized that one of them needed to be put in charge of the others. Two dogs and two cats - all getting along harmoniously but clearly meandering without direction. But who to put in charge? I looked at my options... Myself and the marital unit worked long hours every day so clearly we could not be counted on to be in charge throughout the day.
There was Major, the black labrador, who was already the self-professed "head of security" of the house. He, as he had claimed “canine seniority” could be in charge, but he was already starting to slow down a bit. He was turning 7, getting a bit grey in the fur, and starting to develop cataracts. Plus since he was my best buddy, I did not want any issues of favoritism.
Then there was Remy, the newest member of the household. A yellow labrador, he was energetic (a year younger than Major). But he had his own issues. He was completely ADD, found it hard to focus and was distracted easily. Plus he had just recovered from ACL surgery, and really was teased by his brother and sisters, who constantly called him "Cone Head" and "Lamp Shade Head" when he was wearing his protective collar to keep him from opening his stitches. So not a good fit there.
Next there was Miko, the somewhat chubby (3rd largest cat in NJ) calico cat, with the big mouth and even bigger appetite. Talk about favoritism! Miko would let me pick her up on her hind legs, and dance to "Hey Baby" by No Doubt (before there was the song, she clearly had the moves like Jagger...or maybe it was Kate Smith...anyway I digress), allow me to pick her up (two handed) over my head as if she were a groundhog declaring six more weeks of winter, and basically twist her into rather uncomfy dance positions. Never did I ever get scratched by her, which was quite a miracle. In addition, she did have a bit of a catnip addiction, enough that I was tempted to put her into rehab. Clearly, she was not an option. In fact, I was running out of options.
At this point, making her grand entrance into the kitchen, in walked Pumpkin. She was Miko's sister, although not nearly as plump and definitely not as loud. She wasn’t very vocal at all. Barely a sound would come out of her mouth when she opened it. What she lacked in vocal ability, she made up in presence. She observed everything when she walked into a room, giving a quick stare at you if it seemed something incorrect was going on. She was rather close with the “head of security”, often spending leisurely Sunday afternoons stretched out on the bed with him in the sunlight snoozing away, or giving him a late evening massage (well, he was getting old and achy), but there's was a special close bond. Rarely do cat and dog agree on anything, let alone become close pals. These two were joined at the hip. Many a morning I would find ol' Pumpkin curled up right next to Major, snoozing away. I sometimes felt bad that I had to disturb them to feed them. Oh, they were close, and maybe it would lead to Remy and Miko questioning the choice, but clearly, I found who was going to take charge of this motley crew.
"Pumpkin, you're in charge" I told her.
She acted non-plussed.
"You will be responsible for resolving all disputes, settling issues, liasioning between the canine and feline community in this house. You will report to the human community any issues and your resolution to them."
As expected, no comment from Pumpkin. In fact, she proceeded to walk away and use the litter box. As if to comment to me on what she thought of my decision to put her in charge. Clearly I was not getting through.
"What do you want? You're not getting paid for this job...is there something you want? "
Dead silence. At least she washed her paws after using the litter box, a habit her sister had seemed to forget these past few weeks.
"What do you want? You are already treated like a queen here, you're "dating" the head of security, you get futomaki (long, thick rolls of sushi covered in seaweed and rice) every other month or so. What else do you want? Do you want a title?"
Finally, a barely audible meow. I had clearly hit on something.
"Fine, a title you shall get. You know what? In fact, I will take it a step further. I will give you your own organizational title. I have no idea what you are going to do with it, but it’s all yours. You will be in charge of this group of non-working breathing bodies...that's it - the Pumpkin Group...there is your title. Happy?"
A more audible meow. By audible, you could hear it if the TV was off and there was no traffic outside. But it did sound like a peep of affirmation.
"Fine. There you go. The Pumpkin Group. Now go do your job."
She proceeded to leave the room and go to sleep in the foyer. Great. Some leader. But at least I had put someone in charge and could report back to the marital unit that chaos would no longer reign, that order was restored, and that harmony would prevail.
I was satisfied with the choice I made. Another reason I was satisfied was because there could be no call of favoritism. Because Pumpkin did not like me.
Okay, maybe that is a bit harsh. It's not like she hated me, or organized some group resistance plan. Pumpkin simply stayed away from me. She would not let me pick her up (not even to feed her). Catching her in order to take her to the vet was often a Cecile B. DeMille production. The only time where I was able to pick her up was when she was with Major in his cage or in the living room. At least then I could pick her up...not that I could hold her very long...within seconds she was squirming and doing her best (including scratching) to be put down. My better half had better luck (after all Pumpkin was her cat, and lived with her for years before I showed up) with Pumpkin jumping on her desk or during dinner, but to me, I was clearly persona non grata. It was a rare...and I do mean rare occasion when she did not run away from me at top speed if I made a move to try and even pet her.
That didn’t mean she was shy. Photos are abound of Pumpkin watching television, trying to use the computer, hanging with her buddy (Major), or lounging on the cat tree. But I was never able to make that close connection like I did with the other members of the ensemble. Clearly, "Miss Independent" was the perfect choice for the new “kitty-in-charge”. The Pumpkin Group was born. Normalcy would be restored.
With a new set of responsibilities and a corresponding company title, Pumpkin (who I clearly believe understood English) warmed up to her role rather quickly. If Remy went out of line, she smacked him across the snout (which is quite funny when you think about it; a 12 pound cat smacking a 75 pound dog in the face!) and put him in his place. She kept Miko from eating too much by shoving (more or less) her away from the food bowl (she was less lucky with the catnip problem, since she too was a user, but more of a 'recreational' user!), and even making sure Major was not shirking his security responsibilities (although her methods with him were much more affectionate than with anyone else – no big surprise there!). Things were working well. I also did my best to make sure that she got some name recognition. I mean, the name did sound rather official. I remember sending away for some catalogs and when it asked for the company name, I simply put down "The Pumpkin Group". Next thing I know, a few sample pens arrived in my mailbox.
"How cute...Pumpkin, look...we got some company pens...now we can spread the word...we can invite others to become charter members of 'TPG' (as I sometimes called it)...we are going to go global!”
Pumpkin looked at the pen. Clearly, it was not something she could find a use for. It was not the game changing moment I hoped for. We were really no closer.
Over the months, I tried to find unique ways to use "The Pumpkin Group". Many times I would tell the story of how the name came to be to some of my co-workers, along with some of the cuter pictures of her that I was able to get. Despite running away from me, she never ran away from a camera, and was a very photogenic cat. It was about 2009 that I decided to give her a more media friendly nickname. Figuring that the singer "P Diddy" was changing his name again for about the 300th time, and seeing as he had no problem borrowing other people's music for his own use, I decided to borrow his with a small twist:
"Hey, P-Kitty!" I exclaimed one morning.
"Eehhha" was the reply. It was audible. I assumed that this was a meow of agreement. After that, we used "Pumpkin" and P-Kitty" interchangeably. I thought of letting P Diddy know about it, but figured he would not be interested. Or he'd sue me for the cat, one or the other. I also decided that multimedia was the way to go, and so "The Pumpkin Group" got expanded into cyberspace. I purchased the domain name, and decided on using the name (and corresponding photo) for my twitter handle. Why not? It sounded good, and allowed some of the cuter photos to get posted on the web and to go viral. I also figured that if Pumpkin wasn’t happy with all this attention, she simply could delete the account, since she knew how to "use" the computer, mouse and all. I did not hear of any objection, and so on the World Wide Web we went. I figured this would lead to another idea I had...a children’s book about two cats who get into some extraordinary adventures...one cat, the slightly rotund slow one who gets into trouble, and the other one, the 'brains' of the outfit, who manages to always get the pair out of trouble, resulting in a truly fun adventure! I'd send them to Paris, to Las Vegas, to a haunted castle. It was an idea I really wanted to try to expand on.
Summers turned into winters, which turned back into spring. Remy was back at 100 percent as his leg healed well and he seemed to put his "skunking" incident of the prior fall behind him. Major, now approaching 10 years old, which is a pretty old for a purebred with medical issues, was slowing down a lot. His title of “chief of security” seemed to be more ceremonial in nature. Pumpkin spent a lot more time with him as he spent most of his days snoozing in the sun. Miko was still festively plump, and everything seemed well. Major managed to get through the harsh winter of 2010/2011 which left over 4 feet of snow in the yard at one point despite getting stuck in the snowdrifts a couple of times. The marital unit and I were both working long long days through the spring and summer, often 6 days a week. Many nights I would come home at midnight and pet the wife and kiss the dog (or was it the other way around; sometimes I was so tired I am not sure I got it right!). I figured all was well, Pumpkin had things under control, no one was complaining, no one was on strike, and things were fine. A totally innocuous comment in the late summer by the marital unit barely registered a pause on my part:
"Pumpkin looks like she dropped a pound or two...she looks a bit thinner".
I took a quick look at her as she was munching on some Temptations. "She looks the same to me". I barely saw her or the others for a few minutes a night. When you are around someone constantly, it is much harder to notice changes in weight. The only time we had ever noticed a weight change was 6 years earlier, when Major dropped 40 pounds from 115 to 75 pounds over the summer. That was noticeable but we (and our vet) quickly attributed it to the arrival of his athletic younger brother Remy (who we got as a rescue dog that June). I noticed no difference. My attention was on the television, as a hurricane over the gulf waters was gaining strength and forecasters were projecting its course to make some sort of landfall with the North East coastline. Ironically, the hurricane had the same name as the marital unit, who was heading out of town to see her mom and celebrate her birthday in the Northwest US. I would be here with a possible weekend storm headed our way. She was due to return the Monday after, but I had a feeling that would not be the case.
As Irene (the marital unit) left for the safety and tranquility of the West Coast, Irene (the hurricane) was on a path directly for New York and New Jersey. The area had already been inundated with water from the winter and spring rains, plus a series of thunderstorms the previous weekend left 5 inches of rain in its path. The grounds were saturated and the storm was headed right for us. Expecting 10-15 inches of rain and a loss of power, I spent the day before the storm placing everything in the basement on high ground, moving outdoor furniture and plants indoors, and making sure that all the flashlights had batteries and an escape route (if evacuation was needed) was planned and mapped out. Chief among my concern would be having to catch Pumpkin, she a member of the "I can hide under the bed and you can't” club, which I feared would prove nearly impossible. However, I knew I would not leave unless I had her (along with everyone else) safe and sound. As the storm approached and the torrential rains came down, the lights flickered, but never gave. I figured the safest place was in the main bedroom upstairs. I figured the dogs would stay up there with me. They did, although only Remy would spend the entire night pressed up right against me on the bed. What surprised me was who else spent the night upstairs. Yes, it was Pumpkin who alternated between the floor and the other side of the bed. We have had storms before but this one was relentless lasting for nearly 15 hours. Still, we toughed it out and Pumpkin not only stayed on the bed, but actually allowed me to stroke her and rub the top of her head. This was a rare event. Naturally I attributed it to the fear factor of the rain and wind. Thinking back now, perhaps that wasn’t the case.
(Part 2 to follow)
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