We grew used to finding him sitting in the exact center of the kitchen, yowling vigorously at no one. In his last years he suffered from dementia, sundowning as humans do. In his youth he had had glorious golden fur, which became stringy and oily as he aged, owing in part to a thyroid condition. When my wife moved down to Virginia Tigger came with her, accommodating himself (after some initial friction) to my dog. On Sunday nights she would order in from an Italian restaurant and they would sit on the sofa and watch The Sopranos together. He lived with her in Boston, before we met, when she was working at a big law firm. Tigger was my wife’s cat, found as a stray and passed on to her by a cousin when he was about a year and a half old.
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