Pippin

I can’t believe I have gone this far without dedicating an entire post to the most beloved part of my life. My baby boy, Pippin.

He was in an animal shelter in Fairfax, only about thirty minutes away. I often dragged my brother, Christine, or Andrew to the shelter with me so I could coon over the kitties in their little pens, who would rub up against the bars, begging to be pet.

Pippin was no different. Only, he was four months old. And I don’t think he knew how not to be adored. The name given to him at the shelter was “Pilot,” which was appropriate seeing the way he jumps through the air as if flying. He was in a pen all by himself, which was unusual for kittens, who were normally placed with two or three kittens of the same litter.

Maybe he was lonely without the company of other small cuties, but it by no means detracted from his human audience. Every time I went to see him, which was around five times, his pen was the main attraction.

And he certainly was worthy of such attention.

For pippin, other than being adorable with his long grey tail and huge ears, had the tallest jump and the longest reach, so he could poke his little paws out of the holes and demand notice. Not only that, but his big, yellow eyes would stare at you, as if he was trying really hard to see into your heart and find out if he was going home with you. It would be serious and sad, if he didn’t have his goofy grin.

There was no doubt that he was to be our next cat. Hezzie, who we lovingly owned for fourteen years, had passed away right after Christmas, and while It was a painful to even think about another cat filling her paw prints, there was an empty hole in my heart, and the hearts of all the Randall family, that only another cat could fill.

The only problem was, there weren’t enough foster homes for kittens too young to adopt, so Pippin was put on the floor with a sign that read, “Not for Adoption” And though I inquired many, many times, all they could tell me about his release date was to check the website to see if he was listed as adoptable.

Many people may say they live on the internet, but I don’t think they know what it really means to live online. I lived on that website.

When I woke up, I would refresh the page and see if he was listed. Every day at school I would check, once at lunch and once at free period. And, if I got the chance to sneak it in, I would check in class too. At home, it would be up on my computer screen every second of the day, refreshed about once every ten minutes.
And I waited. And a week went by. And I grew more and more paranoid. I snuck out to see him on my own, just to make sure that I hadn’t somehow missed his name on the screen and someone else had gotten to him first.

I had good reason to worry.

When the name appeared on the screen, I screamed. I ran to mom and Dad and told them he was online, that we had to get him first thing in the morning, that he was ours, that we were to get a new addition to the family.

I was so excited, I couldn’t sleep. I had three alarms set for six a.m. I didn’t need any of them.

Mom and I were at the shelter two hours before it would open its doors. I sat in the cold passenger seat as my mom muttered to herself about the ridiculousness of the situation. To me, it was not ridiculous at all.

Another car pulled up. It was thirty minutes till opening time. And I had competition.

I ran to the locked doors. I stood there determinedly, to mark my place as first in line, no matter who wanted him too.

And then, out of the car, came a little old lady. She was in a wheelchair. She had a blanket thrown over her legs, and an anxious look on her face.

“Are you here for a cat or a dog?” I asked her, trying not to shiver in the cold. It was ridiculously cold, and in my rush I hadn’t thought to bundle up.

‘I’m here for a cat. My Persian died about three months ago. She was a sweetie, but we had to put her to sleep.”

I nodded, for I knew the story well.

“I was hoping to get a kitten here so that I could have some life around the house again.”

I nodded, less sympathetic. My heart pounded.
“Any kitten, or..”

“No, a kitten we saw the other day. Named Pilot.”

I gritted my teeth.

This was the true test of my kindness. If God was watching me, I’m sure that was his moment of temptation that he threw at me to see what I would say. It was the judgment day between whether I would go to Heaven or Hell.

“I’m here for Pilot too.”

Here I come, Hell.



After the initial shock that I had just stood in-between a little old lady and her future happiness, I was glad to finally be let into the shelter. I told the people at the desk I wanted to adopt him, I gave them my completed papers, and smiled expectantly.

“Don’t you want to see him first?”

I glanced around. Apparently, I wasn’t the only person they had told to check the website, for, two minutes after opening the shelter, there were families lined up to adopt my baby boy.

“Yes. But I defiantly want him. So, don’t let anyone else have him.”

They looked at me like I was alien, like I surely wasn’t that protective of a kitten when there were a dozen others waiting to be adopted.

Little kids stood around his pen, their disgruntled parents glaring at me. No doubt the kids had dragged them from their slumber to get this kitty, but right now I didn’t really care about anyone else. It was all about my baby.



Out of the dozens of people wanting to take him home, ours was the home that he was introduced to, a week later. He had just been neutered, and after instructions to keep him calm and not to let him jump around, he was put in my room. A temporary cat station was made at the end of my bed, with a litter box, food bowl and water bowl. He had toys, bits of string, and plenty of mice to play with. As if he would need something to keep him busy.

He was curious from the start. And rebellious.

He would not obey any of the doctor’s orders. It seemed he was part kangaroo with the way he jumped. I was sleeping on the floor, because he wasn’t allowed to jump up to the height of the bed quite yet. When I woke up in the morning, I found my mouth full of carpet and pippin sleeping peacefully on my pillow.

It seemed like the only time he would sleep. I begged mom and dad to let me skip school and play with him, but of course parents don’t realize the pointlessness of going to school as a second semester senior
.
So all day at school, I thought of pippin, tumbling about on my bed, getting him in nooks where he finds himself stuck about the middle, or fumbling around with my slippers, which had pom-poms he designated as his play toys.

He was also rebellious in the fact that he was supposed to stay in one room, mine, until he was healed and introduced slowly to the rest of the house. This was supposed to be a weeklong progress.

The next day, he was sniffing around corners and deciding that the corner of the couch was a grand place to sharpen his claws. He also discovered that by taking a running leap, he could clear the couch and simplify the process of walking around the furniture.

He also discovered that he had us in his pocket from day one. In my eyes, he could do no wrong.



He could do no wrong when he attacked my feet under the covers as I tried to sleep, he could do no wrong when he pounced on my back and started thumping his legs like a rabbit. When I got home from school, he was there, waiting to pounce on me and crawl into my backpack to crumple all my papers, to make a huge mess so I would vacuum more in one day than I had ever done in my life, and to meow so obnoxiously loud that he could not be ignored.




He is the joy of my life.
And, consequently, it’s been one year since he came home.
So, happy homecoming, baby boy!





-------------------- A Note -------------------
Pippin is not primarily named after Pippin Took from the Lord of the Rings series. His name has been in my head for years, before I cared whether the Ring was destroyed or if the fate of Middle Earth was even in danger. (This was a dark, dark time in my life).
Pippin’s namesake is from the movie Jaws. There’s a scene in the first part of the movie where a young man is running on the beach, yelling for his black lab that was playing fetch in the ocean. I’m serious. I didn’t watch much else of the movie, I was scared, but that part stuck with me.
Poor Pippin. Named after shark bait…