Our cat, Tigger, died two weeks ago. This is not Benny, my mom's cat that recently died, but the diabetic of our twin cats.
Dave was over on Friday night of that week when Tigger was acting very strangely. We were playing a video game when I heard a strange thumping noise coming from the kitchen.
I found Tigger in the pantry flailing in spilled water, seemingly unable to stand up. I thought that she must have knocked over the large water dish somehow and just slipped and freaked out, but after the events of the weekend, I was probably mistaken. Anyhow, she was looking pretty sickly, and earlier in the day we had already scheduled to take her into the vet on Saturday morning due to her strange howling and pooping in the living room while I was home at lunch.
The Saturday of the appointment it snowed here. Tigger oddly willingly climbed into the purple kitty carrier and let Berta cart her off to the vet. Berta said that Tigger had two seizures in the car on the way over, and then a severe final one while hooked to an IV at the vet's. It wasn't a happy day. What's worse is thinking of Abby's little face when she asked "Where's Tigger?" upon seeing the empty cat carrier on the living room floor.
Tigger was never the best cat. We got her and Pooh from Tracy when her and Chris moved into a no-pets apartment in Ohio. Tigger was pretty sickly then. She had a greasy black and brown coat, and didn't walk quite right. After a trip to the vet, it was determined she was diabetic. We would have to give her insulin shots twice a day, every day.
And we did. And she got better. Tigger was a happy cat and often playful, but as all cats do, Tigger changed in attitude as she got older. Tigger became the typical scaredy-cat, jumping and running from the slightest noise. But she still longed for affection, even at her old age.
Tigger's favorite toy was a 3-foot length of nylon rope. I'm not sure what the rope was originally for, certianly not a cat toy, but she loved to bat at it when you wiggled it in front of her. Sometimes you could get her to leap in the air to try to catch the rope.
Most people who visited the house made light of Tigger's size, being that she was a bit on the heavy side, probably from never having really adjusted to the insulin. But she was warm and cuddly, just like lap cats should be. And she could tuck her paws under herself in such a way that would render her into a strange legless lump of brown fur.
As long as we had known her, Tigger was always a cat to jump into your lap to be petted. She would purr and rub her long incisors on you the way cats show affection. When you didn't pet her and she wanted you to, she would come up from behind and nip your elbow.
Tigger was mostly my cat, as much as Pooh is Berta's (or now Abby's), which made her special to me no matter how defective she might have been. We will all miss Tigger.
