Tigger was by no means seen by the world as an amazing famous animal, there were few other than his family he knew him, and probably fewer who would remember him.
Tigger was a different kind of cat, and adapted himself well to a situation or surrounding.
Half Siamese, he was high strung and snobby, he could just give you one those looks that made you feel as if you were being criticised, or in the presence of an important person. He had a noble look and way about him that got on many a mans nerves, because Tigger always seemed to upstage them.
He walked how you might expect royalty to walk, and rarely showed affection, he had no time for strangers.
Elegant, with “royal” blood in his veins, Tigger, while allowed himself to be pampered to a certain degree, was also very self sufficient.
The street wise of a moggy and intelligence of a Siamese were not wasted on him, when inside he could to anything, open doors and cat food containers, so that no one had to feed him, he could get anyone to run to him with just a meow.
But when outside he changed, he began a moggy, hunting mice and regrettably birds, though he soon learnt that the latter was to never be hunted, and so took to watching them wistfully for hours with his green eyes.
Inside and out, Tigger had the best of both worlds and knew how to work them perfectly. Even the other cat, Jessie a rag doll bowed down before him, there first meetings met with much hissing and fighting, only later to get onto the point of sleeping together at separate ends of the bed.
Tigger had two owners he loved very much, both female, ones company he would seek during the day, and when the other returned from school, he would turn his attention to her.
Tigger adjusted his behaviour to whom ever he was around, and how they were feeling at the time, and he always knew when people were down. If someone was crying, he’d sit with them for hours, nudging them or purring quietly, bringing much needed comfort for the sick or upset person.
He was unique and wonderful, and ruled the household-if he was asleep on your bed, you slept on the lounge, or else, painfully to one side of the bed, while he lay curled in the middle; if he walked inside while you were fussing over Jessie, she would immediately be forgotten while he was fussed over, but not even Jessie complained while Tigger ruled the roost.
Tigger hadn’t had an easy life, at almost three he had been mauled by a dog while sleeping, I will never forget that day-waking up to shouts-it sounded like a fight, but I shouted “Tigger” I’ll never know to this day how I knew he was in trouble, I just did.
He was saved by a brave passer by, and with a broken pelvis and internal injuries, stumbled inside. We rushed him to the vets, knocking down the fence as we drove out. Tigger survived, though even the vets still wonder how, and better yet, he made a full recovery, even getting over his fear of dogs.
He would suffer more injuries over the years, including abuse from drunken idiots and being hit by a car, and yet he always bounced back, a little wary of strangers maybe, but none the worse for wear.
In November 2005, at around six years of age, Tigger had used all nine lives.
One day he went for his usual walk, and never came back. A day passed and no one worried, two, and I was a little worried, by day number four I was searching for him everywhere.
Over the next two weeks, signs went up all over down, and every letter box was given a small note with details, a picture, and a plea to bring him home.
We have now passed into the new year, and realise that he is gone.
Tigger was a cat who not only demanded respect and love, but earned it-he never gave up his will for life, never. He must have known when his time was coming, and not fought it, probably meeting his death from snake bite in the bush that was his home, Tigger choose to die young, rather than grow weary and painful with age.
He will never, ever, be forgotten. He is alive in every new kitten born, in every snobby cat that gets on a husbands nerves that no wife could do without. He lives within every good mouser, every children’s cats that plays with them affectionately, and every moggy that wanders the streets, because Tigger had a bit of everything in him.
But most of all, I’ll remember him as my cat.
I love you, I am proud to have know you, adn I am proud that you were mine
| Tigger |
| Dec 2005 |
| Erin Smith |