Rest In Peace, Tigger Winky

It may seem odd, even slightly selfish, to interrupt my examination of a hidden world of human anguish and suffering to focus on a simple housecat, but Tigger was my friend and companion for well over fourteen years.

He passed away tonight after a sudden and unexplained illness. To me, he was far more than a pet; he was family.

Tigger was a cat of amazing size; although he dug deep in the food bowl, and it showed, he was also powerfully built and hid layers of muscles under his soft, pudgy body. To watch him walk across a room was to watch his ancestors prowl the jungle, confident and dangerous. Even at his ripe old age, and with dull plastic-tipped claws to boot, his lightning reflexes taught the new puppy a thing or two about whose rear it was acceptable to sniff. FedEx Guy: Okay. Big, Fast Cat: Not Okay.

Although powerful, Tigger was far from mean-spirited. It took Patrick a few months to grasp the concept of "gentle touch on the kitty" when Tigger was newborn -- as a result of his unintentionally rough-and-tumble upbringing, Tigger became the most tolerant and easy-going cat I have ever known. Push him over, he'd just get right back up and come on over to say "hi." Drape him over your shoulder, he'd enjoy the view. Hold his paws for a miniature macarena re-enactment, he'd drift off in a daydream of mice and sunny spots.

That's not to say he was merely passive. On the contrary, he was as sociable and friendly as one could ever hope for. He loved a warm lap, but was usually also happy just to sit on the same couch as someone, perched in such a way as to let his belly rest in the crack between the back of the couch and the front cushion. If you made the mistake of going to bed before he did without inviting him to join in, he'd sooner or later jump up next to your head and very delicately lift one paw. He would repeatedly tap the edge of the blankets, or your face, very softly until you got the idea and lifted up one corner -- he'd happily spend hours lying lengthwise next to a sleeping person, warm and happy under the covers. Or, he'd find a way to work his way in between your side and arm, putting his head and front paws up on your shoulder to peek out from under the blankets.

He had a deep, rumbling purr that spoke of some massive machine wrapped up in all that fur.

He had an insatiable appetite, and had a lifelong fascination with cans. For the first year or two, we attempted to put cans of cat food in a number of different places to keep him away; eventually we settled on a hiding place behind the door of the wood box. This was not because he couldn't find them, or because it was effective in any way; it simply provided the most hours of entertainment for him. He'd walk up the side of the box with his front paws, then fish around in the dark space for as long as it took to hook the rim of a can with a claw. Four or five attempts later, he'd have it all the way to the edge of the wood, at which point it would fall to the floor and he could stop balancing on his hind legs. This never, not once in almost fifteen years, actually resulted in a can becoming opened.

Oorto, his sister, will likely take this hard. They were very good to each other, and probably have never spent a full day apart since they were born. Whenever some new box arrived, it was Oorto's job to figure out a way to get inside it and hide, while Tigger would stretch to full length to peer over the top and find her, or to walk back in forth on the lid until Oorto fled in annoyance or fear of his mighty weight. Then they would help each other groom.

They each had their own cat beds, but every morning, they would always be found sharing one of them, a warm pile of fluff and happiness.

She will be very lonely.

And so will I; home will be a much emptier place from now on. Tigger was a constant; he was always there, he was always receptive to a quick scratch behind the ears -- or, if I wasn't in a scratching mood, he'd simply sit nearby on the head of the couch and watch the world, sphinxlike and happy to be a part of the family.

After all those years, I'm sorry I wasn't there in the end, buddy. I feel like I let you down, somehow; but you put up with so much over the years I'm sure you'd good-naturedly forgive me for this, too.

I'm going to miss you a lot, big guy. Rest in peace.