Tigger showed up outside my home, wounded from fighting with another cat and suffering from an upper respiratory infection. I’m a vet tech and took him to the clinic for treatment. While he was recovering, a coworker inquired about adopting him. I agreed happily, as I thought he would be going with someone who would give him a forever home. He was a sweet, older orange tabby who transformed from street fighter to complete love bug once he had a warm bed and a full tummy. He was named Tigger by my coworker’s young daughter.
I had microchipped him in my name, but when he went home with my coworker, I changed the information to hers. A few days after she took him home, I suddenly had a nagging, unpleasant feeling that I should change the microchip info back to mine. This feeling came out of the blue, and persisted with disturbing intensity until I called the microchip company and changed the information. As soon as I had done this, the gloomy feeling evaporated. In the meantime, the coworker left for another job. I told her that if she could ever no longer keep Tigger, to contact me and I would take him back.
Five years down the road, I came home to a voicemail message from a local shelter, stating that an orange cat had been put into their overnight drop box with some paperwork that showed he was no longer mine, but because of the microchip, could I please come in and sign him over so they could put him up for adoption? I immediately remembered the sense of doom I had and the urgent feeling that I needed to have the microchip information in my name. Was that feeling due to Tigger trying to let me know that all was not well for him? I will never know, but I have to believe that it was.
He came home with me the next day and was part of my life for another 10 years. His face had the sadness of abandonment on it, but this was gradually replaced by a mischievous but gentle personality. We went through a lot together: a house flood, a few job changes, bunches of rescue kittens (he insisted on bathing them and supervising their feedings), and his battle with diabetes. He passed away from complications of renal failure at the ripe old age of 22 years.
He was the Old Man of the house and was never very far from me physically or spiritually, and I am so glad that I listened to the nagging feeling that I’m sure he sent me regarding the microchip. It meant the difference between us being reunited, and him disappearing into a crowded shelter.
I will love you and miss you forever, Old Man of the house!
Story submitted by Chris Cava.
This story was originally shared on The Animal Rescue Site. Share your very own rescue story here!