Letter to Tigger

Dear Tigger

Sparrows have returned to the garden this week.  The mornings are decidedly cooler so I guess they have decided to supplement nature's bounty with seed and suet from the feeders. They are oblivious to the magpies on the neighbouring feeder and the crow who uses the feeder as a perch to look out for incoming seagulls while his family gather up food on the ground.

Your crows aren't particularly impressed with their breakfast these days; it no longer includes leftover expensive catfood.  I'll go and buy them some of that tinned stuff you rejected from the outset - they might not be so particular; after all the word 'carrion' is often linked to the name that humans have given them.  It intrigued me that after years of hiding and chattering at crows you made your peace with them in the end, and they were unconcerned by you watching them each morning from the top step of the patio.  After you went I asked them to go and tell the natural world to look out for your energy going by.

The fox at the allotment stopped by for a chat a few days later and passed on his condolences.  He is looking a lot better - filled out, well furred, ready for winter.

A pair of collared doves have made an appearance in the garden. They are not regulars yet and I think they are wary of the bigger clumsier wood pigeons.

Your hedgehog still seems to be around. I haven't seen it, but the evidence is on the lawn every morning. I have built it a house (like a terracotta igloo out of that big old pot with the frost damaged rim) and buried it in a compost heap for insulation. It even has a tunnel entrance running round behind that lilac tree you lost the rat in all those years ago.

Which reminds me - may I republish a few of those posts? You were able to poke a bit of fun at my fears and fixations, my odd behaviour, and my inability to sit down for long, in ways I seem unable to do on my own without sounding pompous. You could be as pompous as you liked - after all, those people at Cosmozoo  had 'hit the nail on the head' when they called you 'The King'.

Matthieu sent me a lovely message in which he referred to you 'throning' on the balcony when he made his daily run past our Greek apartment. Did you recognize him by the way? I always suspected you recognized more than people realize of cats - people, places, routes - routes in particular.

I miss your humour.  As long as I live I will keep the memory of the 'gotcha' look on your face when you peered over the fence from Mike's shed roof after we had just seen you throw yourself out of a tree. I'd forgotten the wee flatroofed shed was there. You planned that whole thing didn't you? That's why you invited me to chase you down the drive, so you could race up that tree and hurl yourself out of it into Mike's yard. No one else would believe a cat capable of planning practical jokes but you did it often enough for it to be not accidental. 

Admit it though it sometimes went wrong - wrong tree for instance, or stuck on the house roof.

I'm going to roast a chicken. Who is going to eat the tail now? I guess the crows will enjoy it and 'raise a glass' to your memory. 

Although it's not quite unconditional, I will put it here anyway because I updated you on it before you left. We have a contract on that piece of land in New Zealand. I am going to plant a small kowhai forest and put your ashes there. The trees will outlive me and be imprinted with a memory of all that you have inspired me to appreciate in the 15 years that you shared our lives. We had discussed putting your ashes under the rhubarb considering how you entered our lives, but I could never eat the rhubarb if I did that. (I know, silly woman 🙄🙀) I will instead bury there a symbolic handful of your fur bushings that we kept for bird nests and Mr B and I will raise a glass to your very special memory.

A borrowed photo of Kowhai flowers

All the love in the world

F (and Mr B)

PS we talk about your often, remembering the things you did that made us laugh, or made us amazed, or that simply made you unique (in our experience).