The Passing of Tiger

This was the year I remembered to say it.  

I finally managed to say "Rabbit, Rabbit" and make a New Year's wish.

I wished that Tiger would have it easy when his time came.

Tiger

1990-2011

Nobody owned more human hearts than Tiger and his sister Spooky.

Spooky

1990-2009

Litter mates born to a feral mom, as different as day and night, the two of them charmed everyone they met.  Even hardcore cat haters.

Tiger and Spooky lucked into the household of Pie Man and Scout, and their two little girls, the Chick's best friends. 

The first time I ever saw Tiger he was fast asleep in a basket of clean laundry.  He stubbornly hunkered more deeply into the folded shirts and towels when I stopped to pat him, but the fierce purring let me know he appreciated a good scratch under the chin.

We inherited the pair for what was to be one year, when their family moved to Korea and couldn't take them along. 

Spooky and Tiger took instant possession of our household.  The Captain, a confirmed cat hater, was quickly converted.  The Chick, of course, was delighted.  Keeta the Aussie, a little wary to find such strange creatures sharing her house, quickly became both cat lover and willing servant, cleaning up their dishes after each and every meal.

By the time Pie Man and Scout extended their contract in Korea for a second year, no way were we giving them back.

Tiger and Spooky saw the Chick to adulthood with a household of her own.  They were company and comfort for us humans when Keeta, their agemate, died at 14. They provided their own brand of soft furry comfort as I transitioned to a second marriage. 

They kneadingly insisted that I get up in the morning.  They welcomed me at the door.  Spooky brought me gifts.  They both posed in funny positions to make me laugh when it seemed as if laughing again was years away.  And when Popeye showed up, they accepted him unconditionally into their collection of pet humans.

Spooky, the silky black huntress, the polite one, the loudest purrer of all time, had a stroke in October a year ago.  Two weeks later, sobbing and shaking, I stroked her shiny black fur over and over, as she closed her eyes for the last time on the veterinary table.  It was the first time I ever had to put a pet down. 

Tiger, ever the mellow fellow, died in his sleep this weekend while we were at Felasco.  The Critter Sitters found him Saturday morning.  He was curled up in his favorite spot on the couch, exactly where they had left him, alive and happy, well brushed and purring loudly, the night before. 

We buried Tiger on Sunday, next to Keeta and Spooky, just a few yards from his catnip patch.

So it seems that a Rabbit-Rabbit wish really can come true.