Tiger: The OG OC

OG OC?

OG is self explanatory.

OC? Orange Cat.

The sheer joy and bliss that is my life with Vance (I’ve been calling him Vancy Pants for some annoying reason) has me thinking a lot about the first orange cat I adopted.

Tiger.

My first orange cat. OC

OC’s, you see, are among the sweetest, most gentle cats, and Vance has proven that to be true in spades.

Tiger only lived with me for 4 short years before a sudden heart condition took him from me, but I wouldn’t have missed those years for the world.

Here, from my now semi-defunct (I like using the word defunct) blogger blog is the story of how Tiger came to live with me.

Originally blogged in October of 2015:

Let’s talk about…..Tiger. Tyler’s brother from another cat-mother.

This month marks what would have been Tiger’s 14th birthday. So, I dedicate this post to my favorite orange cat, and the original “sweetums.”

Isn’t his name Tiger?

Yes.

So why did I call him “sweetums?”

I can’t pinpoint the actual day I gave him that nickname, but one day I just started calling Tiger sweetums and it stuck. He was a sweetums. He was the sweetest most gentle soul I ever came across, he stole my heart and Tyler’s as well.

Anyway, here’s how we met.

By the summer of 2008, Tyler had turned 9. He was still the lovable curmudgeon I always knew, but the first signs of “senior-itis” were starting to creep in. He had lost maybe half a step, and his once daily “shit fit” runs throughout the apartment with a wild eyed look had dropped to every other day. By this point he had reached a place in life where he was very relaxed, at peace with the world, and had nothing to prove to anyone. He was as secure a cat as you were likely to come across.

I was working in NYC at the time at South Street Seaport Museum, which meant long hours and an even longer commute. TWO HOURS each way on the Long Island Rail Road and the NYC Subway to be exact. I never read more in my life during that year I spent as a “train drone,” but I also think it shortened my life by at least 5 years.

Commuting by train to Manhattan sucks. No other way to describe it.

Tyler was ever the trooper being left at home for long hours. He had plenty to do as always in our apartment. There were his daily patrols, his window watching, greeting me at the door every night, and of course the 20+ hours per day that were set aside for sleep. Nevertheless, more and more I thought about adopting a second cat. I hadn’t actually spent any time in shelters actively looking for a cat, but more and more I thought that the old man could use a friend to grow old with. He had softened as he approached his senior years, and we had a groove and a bond that just made him the most important part of every day. Yet I was wracked with guilt leaving him alone for so long on a daily basis. The thought rarely left my mind.

Wouldn’t two cats be fun? Wouldn’t it be great if Tyler had a buddy? Another lovable male cat, someone to hang out with when I wasn’t around?

Well, as Spock once said, random chance operated in my favor one early August weekend in 2008.

My then girlfriend’s favorite hobby was visiting local animal shelters. On many a weekend when we couldn’t think of anything to do we would go check out dogs and cats for adoption. She didn’t necessarily want a cat or a dog, she just liked to look and to be honest I never minded spending time with animals. I can’t tell you how many times we went to North Shore Animal League. Of course you’ve heard of that one right?

Anyway, one afternoon in early August of 2008 we happened upon The Grateful Paw Animal Shelter in East Northport, NY. A cute little place nestled between a waste treatment plant and a residential block. I’d say it was about half the size of Tyler’s old shelter, but twice as charming. Similar to Tyler’s shelter, the cats were cage free and broken up into 3 large rooms, each of which had an indoor portion with cat trees and little cubbies for the cats to hide in or sleep on, piles of blankets and beds, and an outdoor portion with benches, branches, and a screen for plenty of fresh air. To be honest I really liked the way this shelter was laid out and had a great vibe about the place.

My significant other went into one room to check out some kittens and I, as was always my preference, went to a different room to check out the adults.

There he was.

Tiger.

Actually in the shelter his name was…….Billy Crystal.

Yes, as in “I’ll have what she’s having.” As in Mike Wazowski.

Why the fuck would ANYONE name a cat Billy Crystal? He didn’t even

have curly hair!

I just didn’t get it. What a stupid name for a cat.

He was orange. Actually an almost beige-orange, or “buff” color. He had a white chest and stomach, and white cheeks. He was a big boy, I’d say 12–15 pounds, and had not one claw, so already he had my attention since I knew he would be a good fit with Tyler. He was in the indoor part of the middle room, curled up in a basket that was lined with a blanket.

“Hey, what’s your story?” I asked him as I let him smell me.

He looked up at me, lightly purred, and rubbed my hand.

He seemed SO sad. He just sat, curled up in his basket, staring off into who knows what. Like his whole world had come crashing down around him. I couldn’t help but pick up on that vibe. He was not a happy cat. My heart went out to him.

He stared into my eyes; a sad, depressed gaze.

I HATE being here, please get me out of here. I’m miserable. I do not want to be here.

Please.

I went to the front desk, determined to get more information.

“Who is that orange and white cat in the middle room. The declawed cat?”

“Oh, that’s Billy Crystal. He’s a sweet boy but he’s down in the dumps, his brother was adopted away from him by mistake. Damn volunteers, can’t they read? They were supposed to be adopted together!”

That explained it.

“Is he in good health?”

“Yes, he just got over a stomach ache and he hasn’t been eating too much since he got separated from his brother, but all in all he’s healthy. He’s 6 years old and up to date.”

Six. Wow. Older than I thought. No matter. Age is but a number.

I went back in the room and sat with him for a while longer. He really was sad, and I was in tears as I pet his head. Despite his misery, there was just something so gentle and unassuming about him. My heart just leapt for this sad orange boy, and I had pretty much decided I was going to rescue him.

After about an hour we left, I didn’t adopt Tiger, or Billy as he was still called, on the spot, but I told them I would give it some thought and be back by the morning.

To say I gave it some thought was an understatement.

Tiger was ALL I could think about that night. I looked up his online record, printed it, and stared at his face. I could not stop feeling bad for him, for how sad he looked, how be pleaded with me to take him home.

That was it. He was mine. I HAD to have him.

As if on cue, Tyler sauntered into the living room.

“Chirp?”

“Hey old man, how would you like a play mate?”

“Chirp? Meow?”

“I’ll take that for a yes.”

He rubbed me and jumped into the window sill. Patrol duty always came first. His indifference at my request was all the approval I required…..

Tiger was coming to live with us!

I called Grateful Paw first thing the next morning.

“Don’t let ANYONE adopt Billy Crystal. I’m heading to you now to adopt him. One thing though, I am changing his name to Tiger.”

“OK! Call him whatever you want as long as you give him a good loving home.”

I probably broke every speed record racing back that shelter, but that’s me. Once I want something, I am determined to get it…..and man did I want to rescue that orange and white boy from that shelter and bring him home.

Not 20 minutes later I was back in the middle cat room of Grateful Paw, Tiger still near the basket he was curled up in yesterday. He perked up a bit when he saw me as I pet his head.

“Let’s get out of here. What do you say? Want to live in a 2-bedroom apartment with me and another cat?”

He purred.

Into the exact same carrier I brought Tyler home in nearly 8 years before went the newly minted Tiger. Some paperwork signatures, some money and many handshakes and well wishes later and we were off.

Now by this point, after 8 years with Tyler, I was an experienced cat owner. I already had my bedroom set up as a safe room for Tiger, complete with food, water, litter, a cat bed, and toys. Anyone who has more than one cat knows that introducing two cats is not a quick and painless process. Especially when they are two adult cats and you’re introducing a new cat to a long time resident cat. Not just any cat….Tyler. The king of the alpha male cats. The new cat had to be segregated from the resident cat for the first few days if not weeks. Slowly but surely, and carefully, you introduce the two cats in a supervised setting until you are sure they will get along and not scream, hiss, and swat at each other.

I honestly had no idea how this was going to pan out.

Would Tyler hate him? Would they fight?

Would Tyler hate me because I adopted a second cat?

Was this a mistake?

The whole ride home Tiger sang the song of his people. Not a meow as much as a sound that resembled a kazoo. Or those stick things that make that funny sound when you flipped them end on end.

MEOWOOOOO
MEOWOOOOOOOO

The whole ride home. He did not like car rides. That was for sure.

As soon I opened the door, Tiger and carrier in hand, there was Tyler as always.

Risking it a bit, I put the carrier on the floor, but did not open the door.

“Tyler, say hello to Tiger, your new buddy!”

Tyler was FASCINATED. He walked right up to the carrier door. Not one hiss, not one swipe. Tiger to his credit just sat quietly, the kazoo meows having ceased, staring back at his new boss.

OK, so far so good. Off to the safe room. Tyler ran in front of me, determined to follow me into the bedroom, but I put him in the hallway and closed the bedroom door. Baby steps, old man, baby steps.

Unlike Tyler’s debut 8 years before, Tiger promptly ran under the bed as soon as I opened the carrier door and that was the last I saw of him for the rest of the day.

I let him be and left the bedroom and closed the door. I had lunch with Tyler and we chilled for the better part of the afternoon. Once in a while I would peek in to see Tiger hidden as far under the bed as possible. I would speak gently to him, making sure he knew he was home and that he was here for good.

Later that night I went to bed, for once banning Tyler to the rest of the apartment while I banished myself to the safe room. I was happy but a bit anxious for Tiger to come out from under the bed and explore his new home but knew not to rush things. Each cat adjusts at their own pace and not every cat is as secure as Tyler. Some cats take time, and time was what Tiger was going to get.

I peeked under the bed and wished him a good night and got into bed myself.

Not 20 minutes after settling into bed and a movie I was startled by a thump on the corner of my bed.

MEOWOOO.

Out of nowhere, there was Tiger. He walked right up to me, curled up on my chest, and fell asleep.

Perhaps this was going to work out after all.