Once the kids came along...he wasn't always mean...but he was never one to run and hide. He preferred to sit in close proximity, giving off warning tail swishes, and possibly even flash a little belly to tempt little people into petting him, and then bite them when they did. Still, they (and I) forgave him. He was like a cranky old man living in the house; occasionally funny, sweet every so often, but mostly just obnoxious and intent on getting his own needs met. So, when kidney issues arose (enough said) and the house was in danger of becoming a giant litter box, I hesitated only a bit before making the Big Decision. It was time. He was old. He was getting super sneaky about finding places to tinkle. I am old. I was tired of watching him every second, and cleaning urine.
So WHY was I a basket case when the deed was done?? Could be because Tigger had a passionate hatred for vets (that manifested itself coincidentally at the same time he was declawed as a kitten), and went down fighting like I knew he would. Not pretty. But I think, more than that, it was because he loved me best.
His personal skills with humans, or animals for that matter, were minimal at best, but I could always count on the fact that Tigger wanted my attention every.single.night. When the kids were younger and had sleep issues, I would sometimes sit outside their bedrooms, ready to walk them back to bed multiple times (good lord, I don't miss those days). Tigger was in heaven - it was his own personal massage time, as I tried to keep him from meowing too much and waking up the babies even more. Every night on the couch in front of the tv, he would come to my lap for his snuggles, whether I felt like snuggling or not. I literally could not even push him off my lap when it was "his time." The kids sometimes asked why Tigger liked me so much (it wasn't like I was all that nice to him, after all, especially post-kids), and why he followed me everywhere. I remember back to picking him up in a mall parking lot as a tiny kitten, scared, loud, demanding attention. He kept me up the entire night trying to suckle milk from my ear lobes. He thought I was his mother. He was stubborn, testy, and obnoxious, but he.loved.me.best. I was his one and only person. His mother-person. And perhaps that is all it really takes to forge that bond of love. I loved him because he loved me best. Or at least, he wanted only me, he needed only me, and isn't that a huge part of what we think of as love.
For the kids, it was a life lesson, for sure. Natalie has had her own style of pillow pounding, hair pulling, yelling kind of grief. Liam's is more of a grief drawn inward, unsure whether to share it or not. Walking by his room one night I heard a mournful keening that broke my heart. But it allowed me to provide my big 9 yr old boy some comfort, and that was nice. Liam let me stretch out alongside him, hug him tight, and just hold him while he cried. Bittersweet. Owen...well, Owen was never much a Tigger fan. He tolerated him, but never trusted him (smart). The picture above makes me laugh, because Owen's body language says it all: "Eww, ewww, those paws, those teeth, I think he might just touch me!" Owen has been able to turn Tigger's passing into a great sympathy ploy, however. Always one to make conversation, now if he can't think of anything else to say to someone, he'll throw out this zinger, "My cat died. His name was Tigger. He's dead!" He is going to work that sympathy angle for quite some time.
RIP, Tigger. And thank you for loving me best.
No comments:
Post a Comment