RIP
Tiger Woleston, September 1995-July 2009
It's not fair.
I was supposed to be home tomorrow morning.
Tiger died in my brother's arms this afternoon.
I won't be able to scratch her chin or behind her ears the way she liked, or murmur to her until she falls asleep. I won't be able to touch her one last time or try to communicate how much she meant to me.
Tiger was a friend when I didn't have any others. She was my weird, singing cat. She was odd, adorable, strangely intelligent, and amusingly stupid all at once.
She meant the world to me--more than a cat, she was a friend.
I can't believe I'll never see her again. She'll be ashes before I get home.
No more playing fetch with hair elastics.
No more unexpected ankle-ambushes from under tables.
No more exploring the garden and thinking everything new and amazing.
No more fluffed tails at the most ridiculous things.
No more alarm-clock yowling first thing in the morning.
No more kneading and gentle purrs at night.
No more "disappearing" Christmas ornaments.
No more harrassing neighbourhood cats through the window.
No more tummy rubs.
No more finger-biting game.
No more of that ridiculous "URR?" noise.
Tiger's gone home to whatever wonderful place she came from, and she's taken a pawful of me with her.
Goodnight Tiger, Goodnight "Missus", "Fett", "Retard", "The Cat", "Hellraiser", "Foodbag", "P-Patrol", "WHAT THE--", "Lady", "Precious".
Then, now, and always, I love you.