Letting Tiger Go

Whoever is righteous has regard for the life of his beast - Proverbs 12:10

Ed Chinn

Tiger in the Word

Our white cat, Tiger, came to us in 2006 when his previous owner dropped him at our house. Joanne and I instantly saw that the man was abusive. When he opened the cage, Tiger ran fast and far. We later found him crouched and trembling behind the dryer.

It took a long time to win his heart; he was so fearful. But over time, he gradually warmed to us. I think he finally realized we would not injure him. In time, he became more vocal, and his personality opened like a flower. He learned to express his needs and his affection.

For example, Joanne and I meet at our game table almost every day for a card game and have done so for years. In that ritual, I would pull the piano bench up beside my chair for Tiger. He would jump up, watch us play a while, and then paw my arm as I tried to play; his searching eyes told me he needed attention. And of course, I gave it to him.

Despite the feline reputation for indifference, Tiger was always attentive to us, mainly to Joanne, a diabetic. If her blood sugar dropped or spiked, he would lay nearby, fixing his gaze on her. When I appeared, his laser stare told me, “Help her!”

We became a society; three of God’s creatures leaning into each other within our one-acre corner of Tennessee. We learned the cross-species nuances of affection, reaching, retreating, intruding, and yielding. Joanne and I stepped on his tail; he threw up on our floors. Through it all, we began to understand the scripture “Whoever is righteous has regard for the life of his beast.”

We were effectively the hands of God for Tiger; we had to fulfill His care for this creature. Pets help us to broaden our care to those who can do very little for us.

We loved and enjoyed him for 13 years. But these pet-and-people deals never end well. He was, after all, an elderly cat. So, after completing some kidney tests, at about 1:00 pm on October 1, 2019, the vet told us the time had come. We said we’d bring Tiger to her clinic at 3:00.

Over the next two hours, I watched Tiger interact with his environment, including us. But I knew what he didn’t—that the road to his future had washed out. As I petted him, prayed for him in this new journey, and wept in farewell to a friend, I wondered if that’s how God views us. Maybe He sees what we cannot, and He knows we can’t control what is coming. In the end, our weakness will drop us into His kindness.

Finally, the time came for the last ride. As we entered the “death chamber,” Tiger was docile, accepting, silent. As he lay on the table, his very full eyes locked on ours. He was peaceful.

Then we gathered him into his blanket and held him while the doctor administered the drug that would take Tiger from us. As the chemicals carried him from our shoreline, he pulled a corner of his blanket into his mouth and began to suck. He continued to suckle a breast we could not see. Until he stopped.

In his death, it seemed that Tiger mirrored an eternal truth to our little family: go gently. Lay it down, let it go. Rest. Everything will be far better than you ever imagined.