Anniversary

A year ago today, I lost my second Tig. It was a very, very sad day.

And while I do miss many things about Tig 2—like his boxer’s nose, and his mrowr when I asked “Do you want a snug?” followed by the deep, throaty purr as I picked him up for a hug (he was purring in the post linked above, nearly his last-ever snug), well, I got over it. Because I have this goofball.

Who's that Tig behind the curtain?

I finally put up a shower curtain in the upstairs bathroom. Tig’s been hiding behind it and leaping out at me ever since.

Tig in the office

I turn around while I’m working in my office, and that’s one of the things I see fairly frequently—Tig (or Gracie) in the sleeping bag behind me. Or I have my goofball under my chair, or sleeping on the shelf of the desk, or jumping into my lap, something that Tig 2 rarely did. Tig 3.0 still snuggles into my left shoulder, except now he’s big enough to stand up on his hind legs and drop his head down on my shoulder. But he won’t consider it a snug until I physically pick him up and his butt is resting on my arm, all fourteen pounds of him.

A year later, there’s a new Tig. Door closes, door opens, just like the saying goes. A few weeks after I was told she never gets orange Maine Coon kittens, Wendy had two of them. And now I have one. Tig is gone. Long live Tig.