Tigger’s farewell tour

Tig in suitcaseThe vet wanted another bunch of bloodwork from Tig this week. In spite of the fact that Tig looks better than he has since he was first diagnosed with renal failure, and in spite of the fact that Tig is acting better than he has since he was first diagnosed with renal failure, the bloodwork keeps coming back worse and worse. The vet says it’s bizarre that Tig is acting like he’s feeling so well when he is getting sicker and sicker by the day. So I am forced to believe that Tig’s remaining time with me is not going to be very long.

Today, I took home a bag of fluid to be administered subcutaneously every other day. Sarah‘s going to try to help me with the first one. I’ll do the scruffing, she’ll do the needle-sticking. Tig will do the hissing, no doubt, and the growling.

He’s not quite eleven. He and Gracie were born around March 15. They were part of two litters of ten-day-old kittens that were dumped at a shelter in a town in NJ, where I was living at the time. I had lost my original Tigger in January, and was obsessed with getting another orange cat. My downstairs neighbor’s daughter was a vet’s assistant at one of the local clinics that fostered the kittens. I had told everyone I knew that I wanted another orange cat to replace The Tig. He was such a great cat that yes, he had a title. My friends would ask me, “How’s the Tig?” during casual conversations. Tigger the Second had big, big paws to fill.

I met him on Easter Sunday, 1997, when my neighbor’s daughter brought Tig and Gracie over to meet me. With Tig, it was love at first sight. And as he grew, I fell more and more in love with him. I loved his long fur, and his great big paws, and his goofy charm. I loved his deep, loud, frequent purrs. I loved the way he had to always be near me, and follow me around the house. He made me laugh, always. As he got older, I started noticing that he looked an awfully lot like a Maine Coon cat. I’d always wanted one of those, but was never willing to pay $500 for a kitten. One afternoon, I chatted with a woman manning a table asking for donations for a local animal shelter. We started talking cats, and I started talking about how Tig hugs me, and how he won’t sit on my lap, but sort of would climb on my torso and roll down until he was lying upside down in my lap. Or he’d sit next to me on the sofa or on the arm of the chair, but never on my lap. Hers too, she told me, and hers was a Maine Coon. So I started looking at pictures online. Tufts of hair on the ears, check. Hair between his toes, check. Big, ringed, fluffy tail—markings, fur, check, check, check. I had, after all those years of wanting, a Maine Coon cat.

Tig is my great big goofball. I taught him how to stand up on command. I’ve never had a cat that would do that. He can still do it, sick as he is. He has never, ever failed to make me laugh or smile on a daily basis. Just this past Tuesday, I packed most of my clothes for a two-day business trip to Northern VA, then went downstairs to eat breakfast. Tig was sound asleep in his box when I left the room. I heard some strange noises from upstairs but didn’t have time to do more than wonder what he was doing. The picture above is what he was doing. Making me laugh, just by sleeping.

Tig used to sleep next to me every single night. On many nights, I wished he wouldn’t, because he also used to yowl in my ear at 3 a.m. when he was bored and wanted me to wake up and pet him. I once woke up and found four or five of his toys scattered around my hand. He’d dropped them near me while I was sleeping and waited for me to wake up and throw them. Lately, though, Tig avoids the bedroom. Something about it frightened him, and he stopped sleeping in the bed for a long, long time. That didn’t stop him from standing next to it at four a.m., yowling for me to get up and pet him. It’s gotten worse now, though. The second he sets foot in my room he starts licking himself compulsively. The last time he came in, he ran to the window. I opened the closet door and he dashed inside. I don’t know what it is about my room that scares him, but I do know that I miss having him on the pillow next to mine, purring himself to sleep. Or asking for a bellyrub last thing at night. He doesn’t want bellyrubs any more. He doesn’t lie on his back any more. And his belly, well, it’s not really there. Last time he got a bellyrub, I could feel his ribs. Now, Tig sleeps in a box in my office. I found him in it a week or so ago, and took it down from a pile of boxes so that he wouldn’t have to work too hard to get to it. And I filled it with towels. I check it first thing every morning, and last thing every night. Last week, when it was very cold out, I had a scare: I reached in to pet Tig, and he was cold to the touch, and he wouldn’t wake. It was just his fur in the cooler air of winter, and the lethargy from kidney disease, but I thought he was gone.

He’s going to be gone one day, and I’m afraid it’s going to be sooner rather than later. I hope he just passes in his sleep, frankly. I’ve already decided that I’m paying the extra for a housecall from the vet if it’s needed. I will not put him in the carrier that one last time. When he goes, he’s going here, preferably in my arms.

I do think there’s something for us after we’re gone. I really hope that our cats go wherever we go. I’ll be just fine with both Tigs, and all the other cats in my life.

But I wish I didn’t have to say goodbye to Tig this year. Really. I was hoping for another five years.

I am really going to miss my goofball.

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17 Responses to Tigger’s farewell tour

  1. I’m so sorry to read this. I’ll hug my cat Sammy extra hard…

  2. Hugh says:

    Meryl, I’m really sorry about this news. I just hope that whatever time you and Tig have left together will give both of you much pleasure, and will leave you with many happy memories.

  3. A Steve says:

    Meredith and I both wish him a peaceful, and hopefully long, remainder of his life. We’ve enjoyed reading about him over the years (even before we were married, I used to send her links to your pictures of him and Gracie), and we’ll miss him when he’s gone.

  4. Harrison says:

    Meryl,

    We’re all very sad to read this. Tig is such a special fe-lying companion.

    I always thought going to sleep in a special place for the last time is the best way to move into the next place, wherever that is. All our oldsters (tho’ Tig isn’t old) have died that way. One minute they’re having fun, the next they’re having fun somewhere else.

    I figure the place he’ll be is where the lion lays down with the lamb. So tell Tig, in case he sees a bunch of scruffy little terriers headed his way, they’re only comin’ to say hello and welcome home.

    Harrison and AHM

  5. chsw says:

    May he part without pain. Please remember the good times and not the end.

    Yours (allergically),

    chsw

  6. My condolences, Meryl.

    Frisky went last night.

  7. jja says:

    Laura and I are very sorry to hear this, Meryl. Here’s hoping that Tig will pull through somehow.

  8. Rahel says:

    Meryl, I’m so sorry. You and Tig are in my thoughts and prayers.

  9. Elisson says:

    I can’t stand this.

    My heart goes out to you, Meryl…I keep hoping for a refuah sheleimah

  10. Herschel says:

    Sorry to hear about your beloved Tigger,
    I still hope you will have some more good times to share with him.

    I have a nineteen year old Siamese katz and I know exactly how you feel!

  11. plum says:

    I am so sorry, Meryl.

  12. ML says:

    Meryl,
    I am so sorry to hear about Tigger. There is still time to make a few more memories together, but it is never enough time, is it?
    I lost my beloved baby Bear of 18+ years in 2007, and it left a huge Bear-shaped hole in my heart and soul. I watched her downward journey, so I know where you are. I also know there are no words that can help.
    All I can offer is that I am here for you if you need to talk, and praying for you and Tigger everyday.
    ML (Mary Lynn)

  13. Lisa Clarke says:

    Aw, Meryl, I’m sorry to hear about Tig. I hope it’s not as dire as it seems.

  14. Mog says:

    Too much orange fluffball sorrow for one evening, first I find out Frisky’s gone and now Tig’s time may be short. Praying for you and Tig.

  15. Thanks, Mog, and everyone else. But there’s not much I can do. Today, I found a lump on his belly. That explains why he hasn’t been lying on his back and asking for a bellyrub lately. I wonder if it isn’t the culprit. I’ll take him to the vet again next week and see what’s up.

    We’re just going to enjoy every day. He’s really liking the warm weather. I have more pictures of Tig sleeping in the sun.

  16. John M says:

    Poor Tiggs. I’ll pray that he will be comfortable.

    It’s a riddle why we so freely give our hearts to these wonderful creatures who we are destined to outlive.

  17. Marilynn says:

    My heart breaks for you, Meryl. I’ve been through this several times, and it doesn’t ever get easier. Sometimes it has been sudden; other times, it has lasted a little too long (my fault, I think). But however it works out, it’s still heartbreaking.

    Hugs for all of you.

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