213/366 | Tiger

I used to have a cat. He came from a pet store, and had a red ribbon around his neck that day because he was a present. I had never had a pet before, and I worried about everything he did and didn’t do. He was so small, so fuzzy, and so adorable. I wanted him to grow up to be strong, so I named him Tiger.

Then, things changed, and I needed to move. The only place available and affordable for me at that time was a room in a house where pets were not allowed.

My sister happened to visit me from Japan that summer before the move, and said yes to adopting him. Back then, there was no quarantine for cats in Japan. So Tiger flew to Japan, in the pet area of the airplane, for 2 hours, transit, and 12 more hours, then 4 more hours of ground travel to my sister’s apartment near her university. Poor Tiger was definitely in bad shape after the whole trip. And for years since then, my mom said that it was not a nice thing to do. I 100% agree.

My sister took a good care of Tiger but left him with my parents after a year or so. Suddenly, all the letters and emails from my parents were all about Tiger. It seemed that his presence saved them from the awkwardness of chronically bad marriage. They now had something to talk about without getting into fights. Tiger was loved and enjoyed a very spoiled and good life for 12+ years.

Tiger passed away in 2009. It was definitely a huge blow for my parents. Then one day, I received in mail this fuzzy pressed-felt cat figures from my mother. She said this was made all with Tiger’s hair. I was taken aback at first. I thought it was so morbid. Then, I looked at them for a while, and imagined my mom making those, carefully, and slowly, with the cat hair she collected. I realized just how much my mom missed him every day.

Those Tiger cats are displayed in a very visible place in the kitchen since then. I sometimes creep my friends out by telling them what these cats are made of. Most friends, though, say eventually that it is actually very sweet.