Tigger Van Roekel

1996 - 2010

This may look like just a normal cat, but you’d be mistaken. This esteemed gentleman is in fact the guardian and savior of multiple children, with the attitude of a mafia don. This is Tigger. He was my best friend through my entire childhood. I remember adopting him as a tiny kitten. He was the runt of his litter, sitting on a brightly patterned rug and slowly crawling up my leg. He chose me, and I chose him. I remember it being a mythical experience, with a wise old man with long hair and a cascading beard smoking tobacco, sitting on a towering rocking chair before me, bequeathing to me this small creature who would become my rock for 16 years. When I’ve talked to my father about it, he said we adopted him from a kid in college who was woefully unprepared for a litter of kittens… not a wise old man. Even if my father is correct (highly likely because I was 3 years old) the truth of it is, the experience of adopting him was that monumental to me.

Apparently, I had a habit of hauling him around by the back leg, and my father had to constantly tell me to “be nice to the kitty” because Tigger let me do whatever I wanted to him. Tiny baby doll dresses? Yup. Tea parties? Yup. Was he my pillow every single night until the day he died? Of course.

One of the most harrowing experiences of my young life was centered around his heroics. We had a cat door that connected to the outside. Typically, we’d lock it for the night, but one night we didn’t. My little sister had just been born, she was a very difficult baby to put to sleep, so they had just left her in her car seat inside to continue sleeping- in the same room where the cat door was. I woke up to the sound of a vicious cat fight. Five raccoons had come in through the cat door, and were trying to get at my little sister in her car seat, and Tigger was viciously fighting them off with a force of determination and will that few humans possess. He fought and fought while I watched on in horror. The raccoons were each easily triple his size. Eventually every single raccoon was chased back outside, but after it all, his face was clawed bloody defending my baby sister. He carried the scars for the rest of his life, though they eventually faded to little black dots on his nose.

When we moved to Missouri as a family, we ended up first in an apartment that did not allow cats. My mom’s friend, who owned cats, offered to take care of him for that year. It was one of the most miserable years of my life. I was always asking for updates on how he was doing, I made artwork with him on it, I longed to have my best friend back in this new, unfamiliar place. Begged to have him back. The stories I heard of him were of a forlorn, sad cat that didn’t get along with any of the other cats. Refused to eat, caterwauled all night long. My boy, who had been a real chunk at three years old, became slight and gaunt due to his hunger strike.

We drove 6 hours to go get him back when we finally moved again. I remember jumping out the car door before it had even fully stopped, scraping my knees on the ground and calling him to me. It wasn’t more than ten seconds before he came running full speed toward me. I remember the way he looked at me in my arms, and I remember crying. Cats don’t really cry- but he was crying. My parents hadn’t even exited the car yet. My mom’s friend said he’d been sleeping inside the house and the only way she knew that we had arrived was the way he suddenly tore out of there. He had been listening for me for months. Tigger would always put up an ultimate battle when he was made to ride in a car. It was always teeth and claws and refusal to be subdued. For the entire six hours back, he refused to leave my arms and likewise, I refused to let him go; I had to be cajoled into even taking a bathroom break. He gained all his weight back within 3 months of being back. We never had to face another separation like that ever again.

Tigger was there for me, my rock during my childhood and tween years- which were very difficult years. He was my constant companion, the only real creature who I felt truly understood me deep down. When I cried, he would place himself under my face so I cried all my tears on the soft orange fur of his back. He would purr and purr until I was lulled into stillness again. He pooped in the shoes of the people who made me cry. He made his allegiances very known- and everyone was accountable to him, and his… unique sense of justice.

He ruled the neighborhood with an iron will. He had a 3 mile radius that was considered his territory, but no matter how far he roamed, when I stood on the back porch and called him back, he would come running with the same speed and intensity he had all those years ago when we were separated. I had a special call I used for him, and to this day I remember the way I called him back- it was something like a yodel.

One day I remember I found out about his boyfriend- a very large yellow tomcat that we called Bebe around the neighborhood. He was often seen sulking around my house, but Tigger never fought him, which was odd to me since usually he defended his territory. I remember freaking out because my family was very, very religious, we had been taught to demonize gay people, and here was my best friend in the whole world, engaged with another boy cat. I told my sister, and we hatched a plan to make sure that my mother never found out about his boyfriend. Every time we saw Bebe on the back porch, we’d gently carry him to a spot that was out of my mother’s eyeshot. Bebe and Tigger were often seen cuddling in the sunshine together, a happy pair of boy cats.

When I was seventeen, like many seventeen year olds, I became enamored with a boy who I was always chatting on the internet with after school. One night, I confessed my romantic feelings to Cody. We were so in love- so young, we were each other’s first everything. One day we met up after school and Cody was in tears. He told me that his cat Mystic had died, and I remember holding him and crying with him. His relationship with Mystic was analogous to my relationship with Tigger- they were both our soul cats. It wasn’t more than a week later when Tigger also passed away, curled up in a little ball on my winter coat. To this day, I feel like both our cats knew in that moment that their jobs as protector-guardians could come to an end. That we had found one another, and we could now do the work of being one another’s rock. They never knew one another, and yet they both passed away so close together. There was some kind of energetic exchange that happened there, and it’s one of the mysteries of my life.

My grief from Tigger’s death was a disassociated one. I couldn’t process the feeling. I loved him so much, yet when he passed, I felt nothing but numbness. My sister was angry at me for my response, or rather the lack of it. I was angry with myself. Here was this incredible creature who had nurtured me, cared for me, who knew me inside out, and after he died, I could just feel nothing? I wanted to be able to dramatically cry about it. I was unable to explain myself. I know now that my grief was actually so deep that my body chose to wait to deal with it for a safer time. It has taken years for me to grapple with how much I loved him, and how much I lost when he passed. I was making a painting in my art studio in college, nearly four years later when it finally crashed down around me- I remember crying myself ragged as I painted a different orange cat that had a strong resemblance to him as a kitten. It hit me completely out of the blue, and grief can be like that sometimes.

What a full, courageous life he lived, and what a blessing he really was to my sister and I was we grew up. I hope every person will get to have a soul connection with an animal as unique as ours was. Miss you forever, Tigger.

- Molly Van Roekel