My news

My cat died. Tiger. Technically he was Joey's but, in death technicalities die too. He was the mellowest cat you'd ever met. When we got him, he had crawled under our porch and had a broken hip. It never fully healed. He was orange and white and a huge ball of fluff with long hair that got over everything. Of course, before my cats moved out, I never noticed the cat hair all over anything I owned. Now, I always do. Tiger would be asleep on the couch and if you wanted to sit down or you wanted to lay with him you just picked him right up and set him back down on you or the couch next to you or where ever and fall right back to sleep. Just like *that*. He purred so easily. When I wanted to get into cat shows, my parents said okay but we don't have a cat for it. "We have Smokey and Tiger." But Smokey was too old and Tiger's broken hip prevented him. So I never got to show my cats off but every one that came over sure saw them. Tig never laid above my head to comfort me like Smokey but, if Smoke was in one of her moods, I could always turn to Tiger, so long as someone else wasn't. In his last months, he withered away. He was skin and bones and his fur was oily and matted down and he didn't look like my Tiger. Cancer will do that to a cat. He was eleven years old. Born in May, around the 22, I think. In fifteen years, I never lost a cat. Now, I've lost two. I refuse to remember him the way he was when he died. I will always remember the cat that I held and petted and that was the mellowest cat I have ever met. Zuri and Orange Kitty are patient but, they are not mellow. Smokey was patient and loving but not mellow. Chyna is not as patient and definitly not mellow. Not last time I was out there and saw him but the time before, I told him not to hang on for me. I told him that if he felt ready to go, go. I would understand. I'd miss him and I'd probably cry but, I would know he was in a better place. He was without pain and suffering. He was happy. Waiting at Rainbow Bridge. With Smokey and Tiger. And I was crying by the time I finished and I pet him a little bit and laid my head down below his body so I wouldn't hurt him and the next time I saw him, I barely touched him. I brushed my fingers against his head. Looking at the ghost of a cat I once knew hurt. Seeing him that skinny and that frail and that much in pain hurt. I can't see someone I love suffering that much without feeling a piece of me suffer just as much. So in their last days, I avoided Smokey and Iavoided Tiger and I'll always regret that just as I regret not petting Dutchess but these are the things I must live with and these are the choices I have made. Rest in peace, Tiggy. I miss you and I love you and I'll see you at Rainbow Bridge.