Humans are a perpetually belated species. We struggle so fervently against the waters of time that we fair drown in the current, but never seem to make any progress.
For that, I owe my apologies for the belatedness of this introduction to a friend very dear to my heart and soul.

Allow me to paint a picture of a friend: loyal, funny, affectionate and always there in times of need. She would bring gifts and tokens of love when she could, even if they were not always appreciated for what they were. Her expectations not exceedingly high, but nonetheless you could not help but strive for her, simply because of her unspoken opinion of you.

Those of you who know me better than others will know already of whom I speak, or will at least have an idea.

Friends and acquaintances, I would like to give you some insight into the soul who has been a loving companion and caring member of my family for 10 years: my cat Tigger.

Tigger came to me as a fiesty young spirit, full of spunk and attitude. Never was there a kitten less interested in affection and docile pursuits as my Tigger. She refused to be coddled and seemed to abhor the idea of spending her time being held and patted. Her time was much better spent pouncing on invisible prey and various small debris in the house. Her namesake was originally Tiger, but on merit of her exceptional jumping abilities, we added an extra "g".

Tigger went on in such a manner for a long period of time. She was a polar contrast to her sister and predecessor, Patches, who had been a most calm and affectionate kitten, prematurely torn from life by my cousin's dog.

Eventually, though, Tigger began to warm to the affections of her family. She also, during this time, developed her skills in the fine art of hunting and dissecting mice and other prey in various locations through our house. While deep down inside I genuinely appreciated the mouse gift that she had even carefully gutted and decapitated on our bathroom floor one warm summer night, I am not sure that my friend shared in the appreciation.

Tigger was a rogue and a tomboy. Our large white, princely cat, Fuzz, would never have thought to dirty his lovely paws in such activities as Tigger rejoiced in. For that reason we never thought that she would make an exceptional mother and caregiver; we thought that the responsibility of kittens would prove too restraining to her free spirited nature, and that she might be somewhat neglectful. However, in this Tigger proved us most wrong. When Angel, who we believed would be a marvelous mother due to her affectionate and attentive temperament, proved to be an aloof and uncertain parent, Tigger (who had not had kittens yet) jumped in willingly to wet-nurse the infantile felines. With her own litter she proved just as loyal and affectionate, and boasted a healthy and happy litter- the largest born to our family.

By my mid teen years, Tigger had developed a steady affection for me and often curled up with me; one of her favourite pastimes besides the hunt was kneading polar fleece or like fabrics. She had not yet begun her characteristic 'happy drool' which would be the source of humour later. When I was stressed, when I was angry, hurt or frustrated, Tigger was always there with a purr and a kneading paw. She would look into my eyes with her own golden ones and pinch me. I am still not sure what soothing affect she thought pinching would achieve, but it certainly served to distract from any mental woes in the moment.

A time came in my 19th year of life when the time came for me to move into my own place, away from my tight-knit family. The move loomed large, and my fears were only rivaled by the excitement to take on the role of an independent young woman. Among my many fears and concerns were how Tigger, my tomboyish huntress, would react to her new lifestyle as an indoor cat. We were closer than ever, and she could often be found tucked awkwardly but comfortably in the livingroom chair with me as I read; or else attempting to obscure my view of the book being read so my attentions would be focused on her alone.

The move came and went and she settled into her new life as both indoor and sole cat. Life was simple for her, and she seemed to have no desire to venture outdoors in this new place- indeed, the city with all its unknown scents and sounds seemed to overwhelm her and she was quite content to lay about in our small basement apartment window. Thus was the way of things until November, when a new companion entered Tigger's world.

Most of you will remember Sphynx- the lovely siamese mix featured in a couple of images in my gallery. Tigger's reaction was blunt: she was fine with this invader so long as the little heathen didn't come too close. Apparently Sphynx misread some communications, and felt that it was her duty to sneak up and jump upon Tigger at any given opportunity. Needless to say, their relationship had a rocky start. Soon, though, as Sphynx matured, they found friendship and comfort in one another's company. (Tigger even discovered that having a kitten around was great, as she could play with the kitten toys without ever being suspected of activity that wasn't 'dignified' for a cat of her age. Too bad we caught her in the act.)

I realize the length, so let me make haste. In September, 2005, we signed with a new apartment in which cats were not allowed. I felt wretched doing so and letting go of my babies, but they were only going to my mom's and I would still be able to see them.

It never stopped me from missing them.

March 8th, 2006. Sphynx, my youngest baby at not even 2 years old, was ripped from me in the same manner Patches had been 10 years before. Only this time, it was my own beloved dog who inflicted the damage. The sense of loss was deep and profound. I feared for Tigger's safety and security.
Something must be done with the dog.
It was settled that she move in with my father, and would there be inable to cause any more destruction on my family: she had already killed two cats in our household, my sister's cat Angel had also shed her physical restraints in Tucker's maw.

I came to the conclusion, finally, that come spring I would find a place that would allow me to have my remaining baby back with me, which would serve the dual purpose of removing her entirely from harm's path (at least that with Tucker) and reuniting me with my love, in a home together again.

Again, I pause to reflect on the absurd belatedness of humanity. There is something distinctly unjust in the fault of humans to fully appreciate something before it is gone, to only bestow the deserved attentions and respect when things are taken from them.
So, I take opportunity for another apology- this one to my late and beloved Tigger.
I am sorry love, so sorry. I ought to have screamed, raved, ranted and tyrannized to ensure your safety. I ought to have taken you back as soon as I could, not when was convenient for school. I am sorry for being too late.

October 21, 2006, I awoke from a dream in which I watched my beloved Sphynx killed by Tucker...followed by Tigger.
I walked home to discover my family waiting...and the reality that my baby, my precious baby, my little survivor...had been plucked from this earth, also by that devil in hound's skin.

There are no words to describe how I miss her. Her urn is a cold testiment to the warmth and love that she radiated. Her death was needless and stupid. There are things that I count as blessings: Tigger will never have to know the cruel decline of old age, for instance. For that, I am thankful, and I cling to such things most dearly.

Goodbye, my friend.

Tigger: Mommy's Little Bumpkin, April 19, 1996- October 20, 2006