Story Snap - Tiger and Tiptoes – a love story

What is love? I’ve seen it. Deeply felt love. In a cat. Not love for a human ‘carer’ but for another cat. A heartfelt love.

Paws wrapped around each other, in a warm hug of love.

Tiger came to us as a kitten. I was 11 and on my way to the corner shop to get some milk for breakfast, before going to school. As I stepped on to the pavement, I heard a squeaky ‘miaow’. I looked around? I heard ‘miaow’ again. It was coming from a car, parked outside our house. I looked down. On the top of a back tyre, I saw, a little tabby cat. It looked at me, wide eyed. Then it ran. Luckily, it scarpered into our drive way and onto one of the tyres of the family car. I run back indoors to call for help. It was my mum, a lifelong animal lover and rescuer of strays, who managed to grab hold of the little cat and bring it inside.

My sister Karen recalls that Tiger had escaped from a house of cats and kittens, across the road. Although the cat lady of said house, claimed it wasn’t one of hers, my mother knew it was and took the conversation as an agreement for Tiger to stay with us.

She was stripy, like a tiger, hence the name. She was lively, like most kittens and enjoyed playing and making a mess! We already had two older cats, in our ‘zoo’ house, along with 2 dogs, a budgie and some tropical fish. Tiger soon settled in.

Tiptoes was a sleek, handsome cat, with jet black hair. We named him Tiptoes, perhaps because he had some white hair on his paws but I like it think it was because he moved around on the tip of his paws. He was a movie star cat. A cat with panache! He arrived, maybe a year after Tiger, via a neighbour. He was fully grown. We never brought our dogs and cats, they found their way to us, from the litters of friends and neighbours, or from the streets.

Tiger and Tiptoes were about the same age and I don’t remember them ever not getting along. They played together, in the house and outside, in the long green grass of our back garden. They enjoyed long naps together, on my younger sister’s bed, in amongst a bundle of cuddly toys and dolls. They rubbed noses, like little kisses. They were almost inseparable.

Tiptoes liked to venture beyond our house and gardens, something Tiger didn’t.

Cats who like to go out and about, usually come home, but sometimes they don’t. Maybe, they get lost. Maybe, they find a new home. Maybe, they run across a road and a passing car knocks them down.

One day, Tiptoes, didn’t come home. We looked for him but we couldn’t find him.

He was gone forever.

That's when I realised just how much Tiger loved him. She looked for him every day for months. She searched every nook and cranny, every room of the house. After some time, I thought she had given up and then I found her, rooting around in the airing cupboard. She looked at me, with forlorn eyes. Eyes full of sadness. She didn’t understand. Why wasn’t Tiptoes there anymore. I am tearful, some forty years later, thinking about Tiger that day. There was nothing I could do to help her with her grief. She had lost of the love of her life.

Eventually, Tiger stopped looking. Perhaps she had forgotten Tiptoes, but I doubt it. More likely she accepted that he was gone. She lived for many years after that. She had a good life. A quiet life. We loved her but nothing could replace the love that was gone.

Tiger loved Tiptoes. Of that, I am sure. It was a true love. I saw it. I feel it still.

Astrid Hilne, January, 2021.