My third Tiggerversary!

Three years ago today, I became a much, much happier person. Because this orange goofball entered my life.

Not that there haven’t been some not-so-fun moments. Last week, I was playing with Tig with a two- or three-foot string (formerly the tie to my pajama bottoms). I got distracted and left him chewing away on it on my bed. When I got back to my bedroom, the string was gone. I searched and searched (and Sarah searched and searched when she came over), but we couldn’t find it. I was afraid that he’d eaten the string. Called the vet, and he told me to observe Tig. If he started vomiting, or acting lethargic, or stopped eating, surgery would probably be required. Well, the day after he ate the string, I had just finished giving him his after-dinner snack (a couple of pieces of baked chicken, because I’m such a softie). Off he went into the guest room, when suddenly I heard the Tigger Hairball Alarm (yowls in varying volumes and intensity). I grabbed him, tossed him on the kitchen floor, and, well, let’s just say that surgery will not be required to recover the string. This was my conversation with Sarah went something like this:

     “I found the string.”
     “Where was it?”
     “Right where I thought it would be.”
     “In the bedroom?”
     “Inside Tigger.”

That’s my boy. Keeps me on my toes. But he also makes me laugh, every day.