Tiger The Love Thug

We've lost a dear member of our tribe. 

The last elder of the feline order. 

The last of the original top cats in our family. 

Tiger is gone. 

My husband adopted Tiger when he was maybe 2 years old. 

From a friend of his who ran a shelter out of her one bedroom Chicago apartment. 

Tiger was the thug of cats...always beating up the others. 

Chad thought he would take him out of that environment. 

Give him a real home. 

Chad couldn't even pick up the cat for many years without getting mauled. 

But Tiger soon realized. 

He realized it was best to be loving. 

Because then he would be loved back. 

He was a great food thief.

Stole food right off your plate the moment your back was turned.

I lost many pieces of buttered bread and spaghetti noodles to him over the years. 

He was a great aerial acrobat. 

He survived a fall from a third story window from our apartment into the alley in 2004. 

No broken bones.  

Another life used up. 

He initially bullied the cats he came to live with.

Jack

Molly

Moe

And tried to devour our parakeet through the bars of her cage. 

Then he finally allowed us to pet him. 

But only on the head. 

As he got older he did get sweeter. 

He and his fellow housecat mates became the best of buds. 

But, he was always ready to remind anyone that he was still a bad-ass cat. 

He disliked most people. 

But if we had a party, he would sniff out that person who hated cats and sit right there. 

Front and center. 

And just beg you to pet him. 

And they always did. 

And they would regret that. 

And they vet was scared of him. 

Our recent vet and past ones. 

We were so proud. 

But he wasn't bothering me for his breakfast on Wednesday morning. 

He usually wakes me up by rubbing his wet head on me.

His head is wet because he likes to sit under the dripping tub faucet. 

Cat water park action?

I don't know. 

I just know that that wet head wasn't around on Wednesday morning. 

And I knew something was wrong. 

I found him sleeping in his box. 

A regular cardboard box by the back door that he took over. 

See, cats are easy. 

They don't need fancy beds or $200 cat trees to be happy. 

A brown box was his joy. 

He didn't want to get up. 

He didn't eat for two days.

Not even smelly fishy food from a can. 

And he loves smelly fishy food from a can. 

We took him to the litterbox. 

He was seen drinking from the water bowl that just so happened to be by his brown box bed. 

It was his time. 

He was with his family at the end.

We all kissed him repeatedly. 

And gave him lots of pets. 

On the head only, mind you. 

And he went out growling, even with a sedative on board. 

He was 16 years old and we knew he was tough. 

But he wanted to make sure no one forgot. 

Goodbye Schmig. 

We love you.