I am under the false notion that I actually chose Tigger. Nope. I knew he was running this “adopt me, adopt me” scam the moment Roger and I walked into the kitten room at the Denver Dumb Friends League (animal shelter) in November of 2007. It had been two months since Frisco, Roger’s elderly Himalayan, had passed—and the only time our home was cat-free and relatively clean… It was time; we were ready for another kitty. But I wanted to experience a kitten. Specifically, a striped tiger kitty…oh, they’re so cute!
There he was
, lounging in his cage, just daring you to look at him. And of course we did. It was Kismet: In the small private room where humans and animals evaluate each other for compatibility, Tigger (who, at the time, was named Sabrina. Yep. Too funny), a three month old male, brown striped tabby kitty, immediately climbed me like a tree—baby claws digging into my back and head for balance. And then I knew. I just knew I had to have this small bundle of energy.
So, from November 2007 through August 2009, Tigger—also known as Tiggy, Tiggersaurus Rex, the Tiggster, Tigger Goose and sometimes even The Godzilla of Tiggers—was our first and only kitty. The entire house was his territory. He must have had a basketball player as a baby daddy, because he grew from this small, three-pounder to this rather large-ish cat with this long body, long legs, a soft saggy belly (extra fur, primarily) and this nearly freakishly long tail.
September 2009. Who are these mewing, crying baby lumps of fur in the middle of my territory? Why are they trespassing?!! Hrmmmph! Sluggo had had yet another litter, and Roger and I decided we were going to socialize the brood. We researched the web, and Roger built a socialization cage in the middle of our front sunroom. After catching these four small, wily missiles (a two-day event!), I spent the next two weeks feeding them human baby food and making them adoptable ready…more on their story in future posts.
After two weeks of self-imposed confinement to the back of the house (mainly my office, bathroom and master bedroom), Tigger hesitantly slinked back to the sunroom to check these interlopers. After a few moments of hissing to let then know who was boss (ha ha), Tigger decided all was well. For the moment. They just looked back at him, curiously. Then they returned to playing…
(We kept two out of the four kittens [the remaining two have a good home with a friend]. And in the nearly two years since, we’ve also taken in two of their older half brothers from prior litters.)
Poor Tiggy… the advent of the kittens marked a significant change in lifestyle—beginning a pattern of self-imposed isolation and retreat. Roger and I realized early on that he would probably have never lasted as a wild kitty on the savannah—he just doesn’t have the cajones. In terms of dominance, Tigger is on the lower end. He is extremely lovable and quirky—quite the “Mommy’s cat, actually—but his temperament is more suited to that of a solo kitty. We quickly discovered that he would rather retreat than “fight” for his meals. Since we didn’t want our “woosy pussy” (an apt description; thank you, Sondra!) to starve, we now feed Tigger separately, in Mommy’s office. Oh, he just loves this special attention—especially when he plays coy and Mommy has to chase him down to eat… Hide and seek and skiing across Mommy’s desk, papers a-flyin, is so much fun!
Tigger is a prime example of adapting to life’s changing, ever-evolving circumstances. While it may look like a retreat, perhaps it’s just a quiet time of growth and reflection until a new and better step evolves… So, for nearly two years, Roger and I have taken great pains to make our Tigger as comfortable as possible. In addition to the special feedings, Roger built a wire mesh folding door to protect the Tiggster from the two older bullies—hissing matches, mostly. When needed, we can latch that door to close off the back section of the house. Tigger can now poop and eat in relative peace. And to give Tigger alone time with us (mainly me) overnight, we gently evict the other furbies …to the remaining sections of the house.
He adapted, so we adapted.
But with change, growth is emerging: Starting in the spring of 2011, Roger and I have begun to witness Tigger slowly taking back his home—with sightings in the kitchen, greeting me at the front door, lounging in the sunroom. And if he’s feeling especially brave, he will check out the den and even spend some quality time on the dryer—as long as Mommy is there. Ohh, that open window can provide a fabulous vantage point to check out those yapping birdies. Meow.
I think Tigger will always be a woosy pussy, but I am glad to witness this evolution in demeanor. In a small way, his story gives me hope that change is possible—no matter how small and incremental the steps. As long as they are forward moving,
Progress.
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