Tigra

TIGRA FELIXA OPHELIA DART

A scrawny, worm-ridden kitten huddled on the doorstep. When I got home from the store, I found her there, mewing pitifully. She was dirty and hungry, so I brought her in and fed her, then gave her a bath. When Doug got home that night, he somehow knew our family had just added another member. We began thinking of various names, trying to settle on just the right one for her. Finally, we "feminized" Tiger into Tigra, to reflect her tabby markings. Little did we know we were also reflecting her purrsonality with that choice!

Now we faced a decision: do we give her one name (like most "normal" people) or do we create a tradition by giving her four names, as her older brother Dietrich had? Well, when you look at the top of this page, you know the choice we made... it just seemed like she would be cheated if she only had one name! So we set about thinking of what else would fit. As with Dietrich, the other names suggested themselves to us over a little time. Felixa was another feminization, of Felix, a cat Doug's family had had when Doug was growing up. Ophelia seemed grand, and went nicely with Tigra and Felixa. Now, what should the character name be? Hmm... well, she sure seems to dart about a lot... oh! That's it! Dart! She was a blur of tan and grey fur, now on the drapes, then on the couch, and quick as a wink, in taking a drink!

Little Tigra gave us new adventures in kitty-parenthood; she introduced us to the not-so-wonderful world of the round worm, which was infesting her tummy, giving her a pot-bellied look that belied her weight. Veterinary care soon corrected that, along with the ear-mites she was harboring.

You may be wondering what big brother Dietrich was thinking about this new development... well, he wasn't too pleased, oh no, not at all! For four years he had had us trained and ready to do his will at the lift of a paw, and now here comes this little - brat!- and gets all sorts of attention and goodies. This was not good. So he set about letting her know, in no uncertain terms, that she was not welcome, no matter what the big ones said. And for heaven's sake, she was not to assume that he would PLAY with her under any circumstances! It was bad enough that we made them share food dishes, and he could taste her kitty slobber on his food... no way would he relent or even recognize her presence, except by a warning growl if she got close.

A month or so passed and it seemed he would hold to this resolve; we began to wonder if our little household would ever be harmonious again. Then one night, we happened to notice Dietrich had settled into a paper bag on the table. Uh oh, here comes Tigra, and it looks like she's planning to jump on the bag... there are going to be fireworks! She snuck up on the bag, and Dietrich waited inside... then she pounced and he rolled over to playfully swat her, and the games began! From that point on, they were more than tolerant of each other, cuddling on the bed together (or at least near each other) and playing in bags and computer paper "ribbons", or chasing birds together outside.

Tigra grew into a lovely cat, playful and imaginative. She was the only cat we've ever had who worked diligently to protect us from the little-known neighborhood menace of the sandwich baggie. She caught these sneaky hazards in our own yard, as well as along the path between our house and the nearby school. In the summer, while we were safe from the baggie threat, she turned her attention to laurel leaves, a lesser-known danger, occurring near hedges for the most part. She brought her "prey" home with her, leaving a trail of leaves along her path. Among her more notorious catches were a garter snake, which kept her enthralled with its writhing, and a small rabbit, caught while we lived in France. While in France, she added field mice, shrews and voles to her repertoire, along with bits of styrofoam insulation from the nearby construction sites. In short, we never quite knew what to expect when she came home!

Tigra had a persistent health problem, perhaps as a result of her less-than-ideal start; she was constantly battling bronchial asthma, which necessitated frequent vet visits for her wheezing, and continuing courses of steroids. She grew to *tolerate* the pilling, eventually sparing my fingers for the reward of a Pounce™ treat. It was heart-breaking to see her in a coughing fit, knowing there was little more we could do to ease her breathing. It was perhaps due to the steroids that she was, at times, a very difficult, cantankerous kitty. It could be a challenge to love her then, but of course we still did. Wasn't it Mae West who said, "When I'm good, I'm very good. When I'm bad, I'm even better!"? That could have applied to Tigra, in some ways... when she was feeling lovey, there was no more loving, sweet, cuddly kitty on the planet. But Lord help you if she wasn't in a tolerant mood!

The move to France was a wonderful experience for Tigra; she heartily enjoyed roaming the neighboring fields, bringing us her treasures of mice and voles, or simply lounging in the warm sunshine on the patio. She adopted the other American families' homes, entering their open windows at night and taking stock of the best places to sleep. The nagging asthma was the only blot on her horizon, which was managed easily enough with pills and the occasional steroid shot. One night in September, less than a month from our departure date, Tigra met her end on the highway near our house. I like to believe she was involved in a chase, intent on catching that elusive mouse or bird, never seeing the vehicle that struck her. Perhaps there was an instantaneous scene change, from highway asphalt to green heavenly fields. She left our hearts empty and aching, and we returned home, feeling France had been very hard indeed, on our cats, after having lost Dietrich, Tigra, and Billy.

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