Lessons From
a Friend

Tigger was sick when I went to bed. For some reason I woke up and went to check on him. The coldness of death met my hand as it touched his soft grey fur.

As I went to bury Tigger between 2 and 3 a.m. this morning he was more than just a dead cat. He was the pain of my mother's heart attack and dad having to sell the house they had shared for so many years. Just a kitten when we made that 600 mile trip to help dad move, he cheered us with playful antics in the chaos of paper, boxes, and bittersweet memories.

Tears blurred my eyes as I fashioned a wooden cross from scraps of wood in my shop. Wondering what I would do if the neighbors saw me digging at this hour and called the police, I dug a grave in the flower bed beside the tool shed. Gently I wrapped him in a piece of green cloth and then put him in a plastic bag. I buried him there in the flower bed. I cried. For the first time in years, I cried. I cried not just for Tigger, but for all the disappointments of life. For friends and relatives that have died. For long departed pets, a guinea pig named Beeper, a Siamese with the delightful name of "Booger", and others. For lost opportunities. For childhood.

I removed all the traces of Tigger from the house to spare my wife when she awakes this morning. I had taken his bowl with his name on it that she made in ceramics and his collar to my shop. I was doing all right until I saw his "coon" on the floor of the den. The tears came again as I held the worn toy. I hand found the hand puppet in my mother's things in the midst of dad's move. I remembered how Tigger had reacted the first time I surprised him with it. He had thought it was real and fuzzed up his back and tail. It was bigger than him then. Even as an old cat he still played with it. I put it on a shelf in the upstairs closet to Maurine would not be reminded.

Two of my grandchildren, spending the night, are sleeping on the pallets on the floor. They will wonder about Tigger in the morning. For a few moments I paused bwtween teheir sleeping forms and raised a prayer of thanks to God for them. So fresh in life. What pain and disasters will they have to overcome? What triumphs, victories, and happiness await them? Yes, they will have questions about Tigger this morning and I must try to explain, comfort, and teach them about things I don't comprehend. about life and death and why Tigger isn't here.

Tigger, you are not just a dead cat buy my teacher this morning. You have taught me once again that time is an ever flowing river. The cascading minutes, hours, and years not only carry away pets, but friends and family. I cannot dam the stream. So Tigger, I will seize these brief flashing moments and live them like you did; full of enthusiasm for the daily contests, full of curiosity to see what's inside each new day, and full of confidence that my Master too will always open the door when I "meow" and provide for all my needs from a bowl with my very own name on it. Thanks for the lesson.

Goodbye. I'll miss you.

~ G.L. Dighton

Taken from a Louisiana newspaper, 6/19/95.

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