When we first met he sat on the kitchen surfaces, gazing out of the window, reading the feline news outside,  tail draped over the edge, naked arse hole smearing the surface where the food was prepared. Jumping up onto the table, weaving in between loaded plates in a fluff shower.

‘He’s a cat, you can’t stop him, you can’t teach him new tricks’.  GS said. 

But Tiger learnt.  He learnt it was a waste of energy to jump up if it were just me, but if GS and Mac were at home, up he’d jump, look smugly at me,  turn his back and jerk his tail in that most expressive of feline salutes. 

He’s a very sociable cat- he stars at all the BBQs and parties, just hanging out with the lads. He didn’t mind the Covid chickens as long as they kept to their place.

He doesn’t always make good decision. Spraying the plug sockets shorting the house on a regular basis could have gone against him. 

He’s never allowed in the bedroom, but that doesn’t stop the bastard. He’ll slink in, paw open the cupboards and line the shelves with excess fur, worse if he’s accidentally  locked in. He views the kids bath as his ensuite. Many a time one if his visitations is behind an ungodly shriek from the kids. Our bathroom is more for violence. Tiger knows that GS is defenceless and distracted when wet shaving.  A perfect opportunity to sink fangs into GS’s ankles and hang on.  Now we barricade the room. 

In the evening he awaits for GS on his evening sofa, purring to induce GS to share his warm lap. Tiger has first dibs and  glares at me if I so much as lean a head onto GS’s shoulder. Taught by sixteen years of being savaged at random GS welcomes Tiger to his lap with a hint of wariness. ‘Look how much he loves me’ he says as the cat settles down. Purring becomes snores from both of them.  A bang on the telly, GS snuffles awake, and the cat goes vertical but not before his fangs have sunk into GS. 

The cat jumps to the middle of the room and glares at GS. GS shouts at the cat. The cat flicks its tail and stomps off. GS dabs away blood.

I made him a comfy cat bed from an old drawer. I got him a heated pad and a fluffy interior. He loved it. During Covid our three hens broke in through his catflap. Never before had I seen a cat so shocked and appalled. But it got worse. Whilst two headed for the kitchen, the third took up residence, trying to lay an egg in his toasty basket. I’ve never seen a cat lost for words.

There was light at the end of the tunnel recently when blood tests showed I couldn’t breath because I was allergic to cats (and male dog urine, who’d have thought). For a week, we tried to re home him. We lied and said he liked people. GS and the kids, were heartbroken, me stoically resigned to the loss of a much loved family member. Kind candidates came to take him away, but, smelling a rat, Tiger repulsed them, growling from behind the sofa, spraying drool like a Newfoundland, flicking scabs of mangy fur like a feral fox.  Never before have you seen a more rabid looking diseased and mentally unstable creature unfit for human habitation.

 I leant how deeply loved I was. That when push came to shove, that when my life, or at least my supply of oxygen hung in the balance, then Tiger wasn’t going anywhere. But Tiger got a new cat bed, GS brushes him outside from time to time, and the Dyson laps the carpets with more frequency.

After his near relocation experience Tiger decided unilaterally decided that his days of going to the toilet outside were done. Unambiguous messages were left in the kids bath once again. So we bought him a space capsule for his ablutions. After some reluctance Tiger finally conceeded to give it a try