One Big Happy (6/16/10)

When I was a child I found a very young (but curiously house-trained) cat huddled near the base of my neighbor’s stairs. I scooped her up, took her in the house, and convinced my parents to let me keep her. She was orange and black and white, and so I unimaginatively named her “Tiger.” Years later, I moved into my own apartment and left Tiger with my mom. She promptly began calling the cat “Tigger,” possibly to ease the transition. The deed to the cat had changed hands, if you will, and my mom may very well have been trying to confuse the poor feline into not missing me. I still saw my boyhood pet regularly, but I dropped the name “Tiger” in favor of the name “Trouble,” which I’m sure left her absolutely bewildered.

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