Pickie, The Persistent Kitten
by
Cappy Trundle
 Did anyone know
who Pickie belonged to? Cappy Trundle knows. Or did Pickie belong only to herself? She was curious to look at, what with all those different colors over her tiny body but she presented
an enjoyable sight when she set her goals on a target of opportunity. Try
‘Pickie, The Persistant Kitten’ by Cappy Trundle.
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.............an Excerpt...............
In our neighborhood,
legend has it that Pickie got her name because when she was a kitten, she was the only kitten in the
litter that litter admirers had not picked up, hugged and caressed.
Mona was Pickie’s mother,
and Mona was the ward of a convent of nuns. The legend states that Pickie was a multitude of colors:
gray, blue, brown, orange and pink. Some people stared; some asked if paint had been spilled; but
Pickie didn’t mind and didn’t have a name.
The legend continues that
Pickie, sans name, was sitting in the litter box when Mrs. Marjorie Hoolihan and her 6 year old
daughter, Patty, walked into the back porch of the nunnery to deliver end bolts of unused cloth. She
set the armload of bolts on the old ash table used for deliveries, heard Mona greet her, looked down
at the cat rubbing her side against a table leg, and stepped back, startled by the strange kitten sitting
next to Mona. Marjorie stared at the kitten, and the kitten stared back.
“What happened?” Mona
asked Sister Louise.
“What do you mean,
Marjorie?” Sister responded.
“The K I T T E N,”
Marjorie spelled, pointing to the fur that looked like blobs of paint on a painter’s pallet.
“Marjorie,” Sister Louise
said, “cats and kittens can’t spell, and they seemingly don’t understand or care about the English
language.” She examined the bolts of cloth. “Some beautiful threads here Marj...really pretty stuff.”
“Yes, they are pretty.
Thought you would find uses for them.”
Marjorie looked down at
the kitten and saw Patty stroke her back and gigled at the manner of her purring. “Don’t pick it up,
Patty,” Marjorie said, frowning. She thought she had never seen a cat with so many mixed up
colors.
“Don’t Pickie...don’t
Pickie,” Patty said, picking up the cat and hugging it close.
“Looks like you have a
new boarder at your house, Marj, and Pickie is a pretty name.” Sister Louise lined up the bolts.
“Yeah, sister, I heard that:
Pickie! What a name! What a crazy colored cat!” She looked down at her daughter. “You want that
little kitten?”
End of the Excerpt from Pickie, The Persistent Kiteen
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