Our whole little home universe revolved around Tiger.
Not that he was ever an alpha cat – I think Prince Harry is actually the Alpha.
But Tiger was just so freakishly loving and sweet, everyone (furry or non furry) let him do or have whatever he desired. Including the sweet spot in bed beside me each night, cuddled in my arms.
Occasionally Baby Maggie Firsee sneaks under the blanket to bite my toes.
Occasionally Harry comes in to sleep at the foot of the bed, or on the extra pillows above my head, or on the bedside table … but he never stays the night. Mouse patrol.
One thing you should know, Prince Harry has always been a great conversationalist. He talks all the time, and if you have a conversation with him, he will have a conversation with you back! Prince Harry also has his own language – specific purrs, meows, yowls, and yodels he uses for “Wake up,” “Feed Me,” “You FINALLY Came Home,” and “Feed Me Already, You Stupid B*tch!”
NOT the situation with Tiger!
Perhaps because of his abuse as a kitten and his head injuries, he only “chirped” for a few years. Then he learned how to talk and would walk around the house muttering to himself. Finally, the last year of his short life, he was learning how to be “conversational” like Harry – speak to Tiger and he’d make some weird, nonsensical chirp or noise back.
The other thing you should know, Prince Harry was the only furbaby that actually saw Tiger dead. Prince Harry was there when Tiger was sick, was there when I wrapped poor sweet Tiger’s still warm body in a purple velour towel to take to the vet for private cremation. Was probably there watching when Tiger took his last painful breath.
Soo … One day in June …
I work from home on a Monday instead of my usual Friday due to strep throat (what a surprise my health takes a dive to align with my emotional state, right?) And I hear Prince Harry talking up a storm. I investigate to make sure he is ok … and he’s in the bathroom closet, one of Tiger’s favorite hiding spots. He totally gives me the stink eye when I find him. So I leave him alone and once I do he proceeds to have a long soliloquy. Or is it a conversation?
Because at times, I swear I can hear some chirps.
It’s at least twenty minutes of talking or twenty minutes of conversation before Prince Harry strolls casually out of the closet, studiously not making any eye contact with me.
And later that night … Prince Harry nonchalantly strolls into my bedroom.
He has a pained look on his face like someone has been forcing him to eat Brussels sprouts, or day-old mouse.
And plops himself on my bed in Tiger’s spot, where he reluctantly subjects himself to being cuddled.
And for the first and so far only time – stays the night.