Pipy. I know what you’re thinking, what kind of a name is that? I have to agree, but there’s a story here. So perhaps I should start at the beginning. His full name is Pipsqueak, but he’s always been “Pipy”. He was so skinny – basically two pieces of hide attached to four legs. We were taking a walk near a soybean field when we heard this tiny, “meow”. We stopped. There was a rustling among the green, then out came this bit of fluff. Hearts melted, of course.
Poor little thing looked like he’d never seen a good meal since mom left. He had to be near death, but he had spunk. Instead of being afraid as most feral cats are, he dogged our steps, determined to be picked up. Well, that did it for my husband. He stroked him as we walked toward home, and I’m thinking, one dish of milk, buddy, and you are on your way, okay? No, I’m not heartless, just practical. At the time, we had a grown-up cat who had never had a good day since birth and she would be ready to “make his day” and he was too little to be subjected to her . . . right?
But that’s not what happened. Tiny kitten stuck around on the patio and cleaned up every dish we filled. Then came the box with soft stuffing for his “house”. He stayed. We loved on him and he lapped it up. So he got the name, “Pipsqueak”. Eventually Pipy met Samantha and the fur flew, but mostly hers. He just wanted to play and she wanted him to leave and never return and she never changed her mind.
But this little guy with all his antics kept us laughing when we did not want to laugh. You see, he showed up in our lives just a few weeks before our son killed himself. I just had to stop as I wrote these horrific words. Close my eyes. Take a deep breath and let it out. Such a hard sentence to write and probably always will be. I even offered the kitten to my son; thinking he would be a fun playmate since he lived alone, but he said “No”. Would Pipy have diverted his plans? We’ll never know. None the less, Pipy is our “God Kitty”.
Yes, this little guy who is huge now and rules over the other two cats, is still ornery and playful. Let me give you a couple of examples. He loves chocolate. He’s never had any that I know of, but he does his best to intercept any bites heading to my mouth. Hand faster than paw; know what I mean? One time, he found a zipped baggy of chocolates and couldn’t get it open, so he carried it to my husband and dropped it. Though he couldn’t talk, the message was clear. “Hey, ‘stupid servant’, open the bag. I want chocolate!” Of course we laughed at his determination, but chocolate is for the “servants”.
And then there was Christmas. More chocolate. This time a pretty dish filled with colorfully wrapped kisses. I covered it with a plastic grocery bag hoping to reduce the temptation over night. The next morning I was drying my hair when I thought I heard the thud of furry feet and the sound of something hitting the hall walls. Peeked out of the bathroom and couldn’t believe my eyes. There was Pipy; running around like a wild cat being chased by a “parachute” dumping its load of candy everywhere. I was doubled over with laughter. Useless to help the boy, I called to my husband who untangled a trembling kitty from the grocery bag parachute.
Yes, this little bundle “sent from heaven” kept us laughing at a time when tears were the order of the days and weeks and months. Thank You, God, for Your timing and for Your sense of humor.