Pepe and his littermates were found in a paper sack by the side of the road. They were all so tiny that their eyes hadn’t yet opened. The woman who fostered them said that Pepe was the kitten that escaped the cat room to visit the dogs. He also managed to get into her painting studio and walk across a still-wet oil painting. When they were old enough to adopt, she brought them to a pet store that was close to the high school where two of my sons were attending. They saw him and begged for us to adopt him. Our calico had recently passed away, and the dog was lonely, so we did.
When we got Pepe, he was not much larger than my hand. He was a tuxedo cat: black and white, but he had a stripe down his back that made him look like a baby skunk. He grew, but the stripe didn’t, and by the time he was full grown he didn’t look much like a skunk anymore, but he remained a stinker, so his name still fit.
By this time, he had stopped grooming himself, which meant that his long fur was often matted. He hated being brushed. If the neighbors ever heart one of our brushing sessions, they would have assumed that I was scalping the cat, or pulling his nails out with pliers. I’ve got many scars from times I brushed Pepe. In later years, I pulled the mats apart with my fingers because he was less likely to bite me that way.
Pepe was a beautiful cat. He was a smart cat. But he was no lover. In his last few years he finally would sit in our laps while we read, but it was a long time coming. I don’t think we ever tamed Pepe, but he clawed his way into our hearts, and we’re going to miss him terribly.