PYEWACKET REMEMBERED

Pyewacket entered my life in August 1990. At the time, I lived on Mount Washington, over southwest of Pasadena.

Pye on my roof

While all the other houses were built on pylons and fronted the street, my house was down the hillside of the canyon, 100 steps below the street level (I knew exactly how many steps there were, taking anything to or from the house).

That day, I was sitting on the porch reading the paper, when I looked up and saw a small black kitten making its way down the steps. I should say almost falling its way down the steps.

The kitten got to the level of the house and trotted over to me, sat at my feet, looked up and meowed. I reached down and picked it up.

The kitten was friendly and let me pet it. I made a check between the rear legs and determined it was a she. She didn’t seem to mind my inquisitiveness.

I went inside with her and showed her to my then-girlfriend. She was docile and let both of us play with her. I opened a can of food and she attacked it eagerly.

I let her wander around the house. After an hour, she went to the back door and meowed, so I let her out. She headed back up the steps and disappeared.

That night, I drove to the store. When I came back, I heard her meow. I followed the sound and found her in a cage beside the house. I didn’t like the fact that the people (who I didn’t particularly like as neighbors) were treating such a nice young kitten this way, but that was that.

The next day, she also came for a visit. I really got to like her. That night there was a rainstorm. I heard the kitten wailing.

I went up and found her in that cage, being rained on. At that point, I decided the neighbors had sacrificed their right to have a kitten, treating her this way. I went and got my tire iron and pried a corner of the cage open. She came right to me, and I took her home.

We decided she would stay with us, and kept her inside for four days. There was no sign from the neighbors that anyone had missed her and was looking for her.

We named her Pyewacket, for the mysterious cat in the movie “Bell, Book, and Candle.”

Pyewacket lived with me for the next 15 years, in three different homes and two different relationships. She even tolerated other cats coming to live with us.

Her final year was probably a year too long. It was obvious something was wrong with her, but it took three different vets for one to make the right diagnosis: she had intestinal cancer. I held her in my arms while she left, to scamper across the Rainbow Bridge and wait for me.

It’s been 18 years since then, and I still miss her. Truly a magic cat.

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