And Now There Are None

Maybelline's Garden doesn't have a garden kitty.  Pumpkin passed from this garden to the next on Sunday, March 10, 2013. She was estimated to be 20 years old.  She was found yowling one afternoon up in a neighbor's cypress tree by my oldest garden gnome. She was a tiny handful of orange fluff that rode with me in a work truck until she was big enough and strong enough to live in the garden with Licorice.

Pumpkin was a huntress.  Gophers, rats, hummingbirds, and most especially mourning doves were her speciality. Like most cats, she would leave what remained of her kill at the patio door - narrowly missed early in the morning as I stepped out to fill the breakfast bowls.  As she aged and suburbanization encroached on our garden, hunting was only a sport.  A form of entertainment.

I'll miss Pumpkin.  She liked me and every dog that she trained.  As a kitten she would nap on the woolly back of one of our Great Pyrenees.  Another Pyrenees was her best butt sniffer.  She even charmed a couple of English Mastiffs.  She would prefer to avoid a fight; but when backed into a corner by a stray she could hold her own.

The garden gnomes referred to Pumpkin as "the Devil Cat"; but I called her "Doo Doos".  She was sweet and as soft as dandelion down.  She was a good cat.  I will miss her.  I already do.