There was no doubt that the Bob-Whites loved autumn. Crisp air, crackling leaves, beautiful colors—everything about the season made it fun to do things outdoors. The young adults were more eager than usual to exercise the horses, and if not for the obligations imposed by education, both high school and college, they would have spent even more time outdoors. But even with the restrictions of schooling, they managed a few weekend campfires that included marshmallows, s'mores, and spooky stories.

It was one of those autumn weekends that they managed an almost impossible feat -- they were all together in Sleepyside. Rather than plan a Halloween party or festival, or even a fundraiser, they selfishly agreed to spend the time together. Honey took charge of the planning, and everything came together for a house party at the Wheeler house with a campfire, marshmallows, s'mores and spooky stories.

Gathering around the cheerful fire pit near the Wheeler lake, the group wound down the evening of revelry with stories. Jim recounted a tale about Brian experiencing a perfect storm of events that caused him to miss an important test. Brian riposted with a story about how Jim misunderstood a particular co-ed's intentions regarding a study group—the English language being a barrier between the Australian student and American Jim. The three female Bob-Whites brought everyone up-to-speed on the events at Sleepyside Jr./Sr. High School, and Mart and Dan shared stories from their respective freshmen campuses. As Dan finished up his account, the Bob-Whites were joined by Helen, Peter, and Bobby Belden along with Reddy.

Reddy took advantage of the rare treat to sniff completely around the fire for crumbs from the festivities, which prompted Jim to ask a question. "Mr. Belden, I don't think I've ever heard the story of how you got Reddy. Did you adopt him from the local shelter?"

"Not exactly," Peter hedged. He picked up a long-forked stick and examined the end carefully before placing two marshmallows on the ends for toasting. "It's a long story."

"It is?" Brian asked, clearly taken aback. “I thought we wanted a dog and convinced your and Moms to let us get one. I remember when we went and picked him up. It was our Christmas present that year.”

Peter sent him a sharp look. "Well, that may be what you remember, of course. But there’s more to it than that. Trixie is the reason we got a dog.”

“Trixie?” Mart asked. “I don’t remember that.”

“Me either,” Brian said, looking at Trixie. “Do you remember?”

Trixie nodded. For some reason, she found herself unable to speak.

“Why was Trixie the reason you decided to get a dog?” Honey asked.

“That’s easy enough,” Peter answered. “It all started when I came home from the bank one evening and Helen was in the kitchen with this huge, orange tabby cat."

Helen, sitting next to him, her arm linked in his, started and pulled away from him, studying his face. She lifted her eyebrows in question, and he nodded in return.

“Okay, if you really want to tell it,” she told him. “But I thought …” Her voice dwindled, and she sighed. “If you really want to tell the story, then yes, I remember the day very well. I will never forget it.”

"We had an orange tabby cat?" Brian asked. At the same time Mart echoed, "Moms had a cat in the kitchen?"

Trixie, always the one to notice her father's intentions, merely muttered something about clueless brothers under her breath. Only Jim and Honey, sitting on either side of her, overheard.

"That's right," Helen replied in a voice that was not to be argued with. "An orange tabby named Pumpkin."

"I remember Pumpkin," Trixie spoke up, a slight smile on her face as she stared into the fire.

Brian and Mart exchanged confused looks and shrugged. They did not remember the cat in question.

"Right, Pumpkin," Peter agreed heartily. "Well, here Helen is in the kitchen with this large orange tabby cat, and she informs me that she and Trixie have named it Pumpkin. At this point I had no idea if Pumpkin was a tom cat or not, but it really didn’t matter. Helen and Trixie both liked the cat and seemed content. It wasn't until the next day that I stopped at Lytell's store to get the paper that I got the first sense that everything wasn't what it seemed."

"What do you mean, sir?" Dan asked respectfully. Everyone present was clearly hanging on Peter’s next words.

"Evening, Peter," Frank Lytell said with a nod. "You need anything besides the paper?"

"Just a quart of milk," Peter replied, pulling his wallet out. "Oh, and how about strawberry pop for my princess? Her mother said she'd been unusually good today while the boys were at school, so I thought I'd bring her a treat."

"No problem," the storekeeper replied as he walked back towards the coolers for both beverages. The entire transaction only took moments as he placed both items into a sturdy brown paper sack and exchanged the newspaper and the sack for payment. Ringing up the transaction on his old cash register he remarked. "I understand your family has a new cat."

Frank Lytell knew everything about everyone within a ten-mile radius of Sleepyside, so it was no surprise to Peter that he already knew about the new family pet. "That's right," Peter confirmed. "Helen named it Pumpkin."

"Hmmm .... do you mind if I ask where you got it?"

Peter opened his mouth to answer, and then shut it. It dawned on him that he didn't know. He'd just assumed the cat had shown up at the farm and Helen had fed it and decided to keep it. But again, he'd assumed. He cleared his throat. "To tell you the truth, Frank. I'm not sure where Helen found that cat. She didn't mention it last night and I didn't think to ask."

"You might want to find out." His voice was ominous and dark.

Peter cleared his throat and replied, "Why?"

Frank shrugged. "The Hudson River Valley has plenty of tales. Ichabod Crane and Headless Horseman, the Hudson River ghostship, and the ghost of Maggie Houghtaling. Other places have hauntings as well, but I thought you'd have heard about the demon cat."

Peter grinned. "Can't say that I have, Frank. I take it that's a story about Sleepyside?"

"Indirectly," he replied. "’Demon cat is a tale of a cat that haunted the nation's capital. Most people who study history are aware that the government buildings there are connected by various tunnels. There was a time when they uses cats in those tunnels to keep the rodents from taking over. Cats are quite useful when it comes to things like that." He peered over his spectacles to see if Peter was listening. Satisfied that he had Peter's full attention, he continued. "They had one cat, a black one, that never left. Folks say it's the same cat that used to hang out in the underground chamber that was originally intended to be the tomb of George Washington."

Peter couldn't hold back a small snort of derision. "Really, Frank?" he asked. "You believe this stuff?"

"Now just you listen here," The older man’s spectacles flashed and his voice went up. "I'm not saying that I believe it and I'm not saying that I don't believe it, I'm just saying what folks around these parts know. Every time something bad happens in Washington, they say the cat appears. Guards report they saw the black cat before Lincoln and Kennedy were assassinated, when DC flooded in World War Two, before Reagan was shot, even before that plane hit the Pentagon back on 9-11."

"Okay, so our Nation’s capital has a black cat haunting the place." Peter shrugged. "What's that got to do with our orange tabby?"

"Young man, if you'll just let me finish ..." Lytell took a moment to stroke his chin before continuing. "Back in the forties, after one of these sightings, one of the guards actually found a small orange kitten. That kitten ended up being given to Senator Irving Ives." Once again, he paused and peered at Peter. "I take it you do know Senator Ives?"

"Yes, but he's not from around here," Peter replied.

"No, but he was heavily involved in the banking industry prior to his Senate days. You of all people should know ---"

"He was on the board of Sleepyside National Bank," Peter interrupted.

"Exactly. The story I told was that orange cat wound up as the bank's cat for several years in the 1950s. It did the same job as those cats in DC, keeping rodents out of the bank and the vault. Then one day this vile man came into the bank and --"

"You're not telling me that story of the haunted safe deposit box, are you?" Peter asked, dumbfounded. "That story didn't include a cat, and you know how long I've worked at the bank. There has never been any sight of a ghost of any kind the entire time that I've worked there."

"Son, you're just not very patient, are you?" Lytell sighed. "Look-a-here, the real story around here is that after that miscreant put the cat in the safe deposit box, it somehow got out and headed for the woods, right around this area. Every once in a while, they'll be some crazy story about a wild orange cat. Sometimes we'll find a catamount in the area, or just a feral housecat but it never fails, when the cat appears something strange happens."

"Are you saying that our cat is the descendant of this demon cat from Washington?" Peter was ready to discredit the entire story.

"I'm just saying you need to watch your family a little closer in the coming weeks," Lytell replied. "You don't think it one bit strange that a full-grown, tame housecat just showed up at your farm? A kitten sure they wander away, but an adult cat?"

"You may be right," he acknowledged. "We both know it doesn't belong to Mr. Frayne. As for the Spencers, I suppose it could be theirs. They have a stable and may have quite a few cats. I'll double check with them."

"It don't belong to any of them," Lytell informed him. "I already asked around. No one in these parts is missing a cat. You best watch yourself."

Peter picked up the milk and strawberry pop and turned to leave, deciding to humor the older man. "An interesting story, Frank. I'll be sure and share it with Helen and we'll both, uh .... we'll keep our eyes open."

"You do that, young man, you do that."

The fire popped and caused several of the Bob-Whites to jump at the sharp crack that accompanied it. Jim smiled as Trixie scrunched closer to him and he leaned forward to ask, “Mr. Belden, do you mean to tell us that you had a ghost cat?"

Peter and Helen exchanged a look and Peter finally answered slowly. "Not exactly, but you know, I think it might be better for Helen to tell the story from here."

"Me!" Helen squeaked. Then, noticing the look on Peter's face, she cleared her throat. "Right, my turn. Things were really quite straightforward after that. Peter came home from Lytell's store with that crazy tale of a haunted cat, descendant of the White House Demon Cat and all of it. Or course, it was no wonder I didn't hold much truck with such nonsense. At the time I was more concerned about him getting Trixie all hyped up on strawberry pop."

Peter cleared his throat. "Actually, dear, in my defense you didn't tell me for at least another year that strawberry drink was soda. If you remember, I thought it was juice."

That got a laugh out of the group.

"I remember when you stopped bringing it," Trixie added with a grin. "I was crushed. But I still love that stuff. Mr. Lytell still carries it in the store."

"Right," Helen frowned, remembering the hyperactive four-year old who was full of sugar, red dye and who-knew-what-else was in that crazy drink. "Well, you didn't get that from me. But like I was saying, I didn't believe that story at all. While my family wasn't from around Sleepyside, I'd never heard the story of the bank's cat, the haunted safe deposit box or any of those tales.”

“You don’t believe in ghosts?” Honey leaned in, fascinated with the story.

“No, not at the time,” Helen replied slowly. “Now, I’m willing to admit there might be some truth to the tales of paranormal activities.”

“Moms!” Brian exclaimed. “You have to be kidding? You don’t really believe in ghosts. It’s been scientifically proven that there is no such thing as ghosts. Ghosts would require a supernatural substance that doesn't fit into the known categories of physics.”

Helen exchanged a look with Peter, remembering how he hadn’t believed her at first. She hesitated for a moment before replying to Brian. “In all fairness, dear, I said I believed in the paranormal—not that I believed in ghosts. Also, when this happened you had just turned seven and you don’t remember the cat. Trixie was four, and she remembers it. You might want to listen first and then make up your mind.”

Brian opened his mouth and then shut it. This was a time to shut-up and listen, rather than try to persuade. But Moms was right. He was racking his brain to try and remember an orange cat named Pumpkin. He glanced toward Mart and lifted his brows in question. Mart gave a slight shake of his head. He didn’t remember the cat either.

Helen looked at Brian. “Actually, it was the Saturday after your seventh birthday. All you wanted for your birthday was to go camping. We worked it out that your Dad would take you and Mart camping up at Croton Park Point and Trixie and I would stay home with Pumpkin. We’d only had her about a week, but it was after the conversation with Mr. Lytell.” She smiled, thinking of her first girls’ weekend with her only daughter.

“You said it would be just us girls for the weekend,” Trixie offered. “And I said, yes it would because Pumpkin was a girl too.”

“Excuse me, you said Pumpkin the cat was female?” Jim interrupted.

“That’s right. We’d only found out the day before she was a female tabby,” Helen answered.

“That’s unusual,” Jim commented. “Over eighty percent of orange tabby cats are male. It’s unusual to have a female.”

“Really?” Diana interjected. “I had no idea.”

“Me either,” Dan chimed in. “Why is that?”

“Chromosomes is the short answer,” Jim replied. “Chromosomes plus the orange color being dominant. Do you want more details than that?”

“Yes,” Mart replied at the same time Dan answered “No.”

Trixie groaned, but Jim quickly told Mart, “I’ll explain it more later, but for now I’d really like to hear the rest of the story.”

The rest of the group agreed, and Helen continued the tale.

“There really isn’t much more,” Helen continued. “I guess it would help to know that Uncle Andrew had just sent the kids books for Halloween. He sent Trixie the book Kitten’s First Full Moon. I think it had won an award or something.”

“A Caldecott Award,” Mart interjected. “I remember that book and I remember Uncle Andrew sending us books for Halloween that year because I think mine was about a space cat.”

“Yeah, and I got Bad Kitty,” Brian replied. “I remember that year and the camping trip.”

“Right,” Helen said. “You’re both right. The books arrived that week and just like Bobby with Peter Rabbit, Trixie wanted me to read hers to her, but I told her she had to wait until bedtime. She played with the cat all afternoon and after dinner when it was finally time to read her the book, she said to read another one; that Pumpkin had already read her the book.”

The group around the campfire laughed and Dan took the opportunity of a pause in the story to get up and throw another log on the fire. As soon as he settled back down, Helen continued the tale.

“Of course, I admonished her about making up stories when she told me that, but she was quite determined that indeed Pumpkin had read her the story. It was hard to decide what to say to her because I really didn’t want to squash her imagination –”

“Clearly you didn’t,” Mart muttered sarcastically.

Helen, choosing to ignore her middle son, continued with the story. “But while I was deliberating what I should do, Trixie told me the story. How the kitten saw the first moon and thought it was a bowl of milk, and then it climbed a tree, and fell in the pond, and finally came home and found a bowl of milk.”

Diana gasped; she remembered that story from her own childhood.

Helen looked at her and nodded. “Exactly, Diana. It was the story. How could Trixie have known the details before I read it to her? Also, remember, it was a new book, it had just come out.” She took a deep breath. “As I flipped through the book and realized she already knew the story, of course I decided to just read her a different book. I kept trying to think of ways she could’ve known, maybe Brian read it to her before they left, or Peter or something. That was it for the night, I just knew there had to be some logical explanation for how Trixie knew the story. But that night I had this crazy, crazy dream about that cat reading books to Trixie. It was disturbing, but then again, it was a dream and dreams are often crazy.”

“You got rid of the cat because of a crazy dream?” Mart asked.

“No, not at all,” Helen answered. “The cat left on its own the next morning. I came downstairs to fix breakfast. Trixie was still in bed, or so I thought, but the cat was in the kitchen. I took one look at it and said – Pumpkin, you can’t really read, can you? – and the cat looked at me and meowed. Like it was answering me. But then Trixie came into the kitchen, and walked over to the cat with the book in her hand and asked Pumpkin to read it to her again.”

Helen closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “The cat answered her. In English mind you, not a meow and I’ll never forget what it said.”

“I’m no mouser, your Moms doesn’t want a cat that can read, she just wants an ordinary barn cat.”

Trixie and Helen said the words in unison. Trixie and her mother exchanged small smiles. It had been a moment between them. Being four years old and accepting that yes, a cat could talk, hadn’t bothered Trixie in the slightest, but Helen had been unable to cook breakfast for some time.

“The cat left then,” Trixie finished the story. “She never said another word, just walked over to the door and meowed and scratched to be let out. I cried and Moms let the cat out. We never saw Pumpkin again.”

The group around the campfire exchanged nervous looks. Diana clearly believed the story, Brian still looked unconvinced at the tale of the talking cat and the others didn’t seem to know what to make of Helen Belden’s tale.

“Dad, do you believe that cat could talk?” Mart finally spoke.

“I believe your Mother,” he answered. “At first, I thought it had just been one long dream, but then Trixie told me the cat read her the new book, completely separate from Helen telling me about the cat, and they can’t both have had the same dream. So yes, I believed them.”

“It had to have been a dream,” Brian insisted.

“Really?” Trixie asked him. “You want to explain how when you came back from the camping trip neither you nor Mart could remember the cat?”

“You dreamed the cat, maybe?” Jim said dubiously.

“They definitely did not dream the cat,” Peter said. “Not only do I remember the cat, but Mr. Lytell remembers me telling him about the cat. Helen told him the entire story, and he believes it to be true. Also, the vet has a record of us bringing the cat to him to be checked out. That’s when he confirmed it was a female cat and we’d made an appointment for the next week to have it spayed. I had to call him to cancel the appointment.”

“Well, maybe that explains why the cat disappeared,” Dan joked. “She didn’t want the surgery.”

“Perhaps,” Peter agreed. “But Trixie was inconsolable about her cat for several days.”

“She was,” Helen agreed. “And there was no way that I was going to agree to another cat.”

“When Daddy told me another cat was out of the question, I asked him if we could get a dog.” Trixie finished. “And he said he would see what he could do.”

“And that’s how we got Reddy,” Mart finished. “Dad and Brian brought him home on Christmas Eve.”

“Exactly.” Peter replied. “Mr. Delanoy’s dog Ruby had a litter, and it may be hard to believe now, but Reddy was the runt. He’d mentioned it to me at the bank and we were able to get him for the kids just in time for Christmas.”

“I didn’t know Reddy came from Tom’s family,” Jim replied. “That explains part of the reason why Tom knows so much about dogs.”

“How did you manage to agree to let Bobby get the kitten then?” Dan asked. “He got that little black fuzz ball right after I came to Sleepyside.”

“We didn’t have much of a choice,” Peter said. “I guess if it comes down to a cat that can read versus a catamount, we’ll take our chances with the reading cat.”

“We only wished that Kitty could read to Bobby,” Trixie added. “It really would’ve been nice not to have to read him Peter Rabbit a gazillion times.”

“Yeah, Kitty must be an ordinary barn cat then,” Honey smiled.

“Indeed,” Helen answered. “And thank goodness for that!”