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When I came home from the BlogHer conference on Sunday night, I noticed something was a little off with Tigger. She was lying very still in an awkward position with her eyes open. I asked Josh if he’d noticed anything wrong with her over the weekend, and he insisted she was her normal self.

I watched her the next day. She was eating. She came up the stairs before bed for her favourite cookies.

The next day was Monkey’s birthday. Tigger greeted me in the kitchen with love eyes, waiting for a fresh bowl of kibble. I can’t remember if she did in fact come to the top of the stairs for her favourite cookie that night. But, she gave us the happy day together.

She waited. She waited ’til after my trip, and she waited ’til Monkey’s birthday was over and dust had begun to settle on various unwanted gifts….

“Mama! There’s barf!” A common exclamation by the Monkey. I ran over to where Tigger was lying — again, in that awkward pose with eyes dull and wide open — and there was a big puddle of pee. I called the vet immediately.

“Haley, I think she’s very sick,” the vet said as he massaged her abdomen and listened to her pulse. “She’s severely anemic, which suggests something with her red blood cells.”

“Cancer,” I said. Tears beginning to spurt.

“If I’m not mistaken, I think there’s a mass in her belly. I’m happy to do tests, but I don’t think she has more than 12 hours left.”

“Can I call Josh so he can say goodbye?”

“Of course.”

It was a long wait. Monkey on the table by Tigger’s side drawing pictures of her and of Minden and Marge….

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I stroked Tigger’s head the whole time. Whenever I’d stop, she’d get up suddenly and howl. Josh and Rascal finally arrived, I signed the paper, and I stroked her head until she was gone.

I didn’t wake up this morning thinking I’d have to teach Monkey about death.

“Is she in a box?”

“Yes, I think so, Monkey. A cozy box.”

“Is she late for a party?”

“I’m not sure. She might be late for the party.”

“When is she coming home?”

“She’s not coming home, Monkey. She’s gone to a peaceful place. But, if you ask her, she’ll come see you in your dreams. And she’s always in your heart.”

“What is that place? What’s there?”

“I don’t know, Monkey. Probably lots of grass and flowers, and Simba.”

“Is she sick?”

“She was very sick, Monkey. And now she’s not sick anymore.”

“Where’s Tigger? When is she coming home? I want the cake Dada bought. Can I see the cake? Where’s Tigger?”

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Josh-O bought us a cake to make us all feel better. I repurposed it, though, and insisted it was to celebrate Tigger’s life and all the wonderful things she did for our family — as a part of our family.

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Of course, I could only look at it — since it’s not vegan. But, I didn’t feel much like eating.

Tigger was a very sweet cat. She was always the favourite among guests at our house. She meowed at the squirrels outside — so loudly, that sometimes I couldn’t determine if it was her I was hearing, or one of the kids.

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She was once a stray outdoor cat. Had to adjust to the indoor life. I always sensed a yearning in her for the adventurous life she led as a kitten. I probably could have taken her outside more. When she did get outside, she’d never go far. Just cower in the grass….

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Perhaps what I’ll remember most — especially when I find myself guiltily regretting what I COULD HAVE done better for her — is how she’d sit ALL EVENING LONG on my lap as I worked. I hated it. She’d dig her sharp claws in my thighs, and I’d get so hot and sweaty under her fat little body. The evenings are for my work! I’m always racing against the clock to get all my work done and get to bed — and ALWAYS with Tigger uncomfortably on my lap. I let her stay there, and I stroked her head as I worked, because it was the LEAST I could do in my chaotic kid-centred day to make her happy and to make her feel loved.

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She was never my “BABY” — not like Minden and Simba. More like a friend, always in need of kibble, a clean litter box and a lap.

MEOWOWOWOW! LIKE I needed that first thing in the morning while trying to get the kids fed and out the door…. She loved her food.  She was my friend.

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(One of the best posts I ever wrote was about Tigger…. Here.)

Sweet Tigger.

Thank you for loving our family. For letting Rascal choke and clobber you, and for letting Monkey put necklaces on you. Thank you for keeping me toasty, even when I was sweating already. I’ll miss the soft white fur on your chest. So fancy. Your truly dainty paws. Your smudgy nose. Your stiff awkward gait. Your loud, loud meow. Monkey will miss you. I will miss you. I already feel so much lack on my lap this evening sitting here.

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Good night, Sweet Tigger. See you in my dreams.

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I love you.

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