It was almost exactly five years ago when our veterinarian gave us a distressing verdict on our beloved cat, Pumpkin. He had mouth cancer, and probably only had a few months left.
Those few months passed, and Pumpkin was still with us, but winter was coming, and so I went out back and dug a grave for him knowing the time was near and the ground about to freeze.
Pumpkin was outside on the patio at the time, and he watched me digging, and I swear he was giving me the side eye, like, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
See, Pumpkin wasn’t ready, and to prove it, he lived on, being his usual sweet and affectionate self for another five years, until the other day when his condition suddenly deteriorated, and his time had come.
What a good long life Pumpkin had: nineteen years and two months (2007-2026). He was picked out by the kids and named by them. He joined our family and his brother, Storm, (2004-2020), and was always a large presence (at one point he weighed 16 pounds before we had to put him on a diet, but he had shrunk to a bag-of-bones seven pounds by the time of his demise).
Mostly Pumpkin was a large presence not because of his size but because he demanded—and received—a lot of attention. Whatever room we were in, he would show up and pick out a lap to sit on. When we were outside, he would follow us around just to be near us. He liked to visit the neighbors. He liked to drink the water on the shower floor, or from the toilet, or the watering can, or just about anywhere other than his own bowl. He loved cantaloupe!
He had a lot of nicknames: Plumpkin, Chubblesome, Big King, Buddy Boy, The Pumps, and more.
Julia made this lovely photo collage that captures the essence of Pumpkin. May he Rest In Peace.
