A small piece of one of the fondest childhood memories...learning to love and let go.

Written By: Joyce Bowling
Written March 1999
Copyright September 2006

Tig

It was a hot summer day in the month of July we were visiting my dad’s family who lived on the hollows of Otter Creek. If you don’t know where Otter Creek is, it is about seven miles beyond Goose Rock elementary school in Clay County Kentucky. Anyway, we had just finished eating a big dinner that Maw Smith had prepared, yes we called her Maw believe it or not. She was one of the finest cooks in the county and always had a feast of fresh hog meat fried in homemade rendered lard, cooked or fried potatoes, hominy, corn bread, shuck beans and or green beans. Maw didn’t make big fancy deserts like the one’s that we have grown accustomed to today, instead she would have a fresh jar of honey collected from Paw’s hives. That golden jar of honey was always waiting on the table with a tub of hand-churned butter and Maw’s homemade buttermilk biscuits. I always looked forward to eating at Maw’s house if for no other reason than the honey and biscuits.

Anyway, the story goes on this particularly hot July day we were going to go down the road to my aunt’s house so we could go wading in the edge of the river. You see, back then one could play in the river because the water wasn’t polluted as it is today, and we were always supervised by an older cousin or by a younger aunt. However, on the way we had a change of plans as we drove down the dusty road with the windows of the 1974 blue Impala rolled down. Just as we were about to pass my cousin’s Jean’s house my mom came to a sudden stop so she could talk to Jean who was sitting on the porch. As we kids sat in the car impatiently wanting to go and splash in the shallow edge of Goose Rock River. I noticed a litter of kittens lounging with their mother in the cool of the shade on the front porch. Immediately Jean saw me eyeing the kittens and asked mommy if I could have one of them. My mom was hesitant about allowing me to have a kitten, you see I had never had a real pet before, not of my very own. My mom worked two jobs six and seven days a week in order to raise me, my brother and my sister, so she surely did not have time to feed and care for a kitten.

I begged my mom for the kitten and told her that I wanted the black kitten that was sitting away from the others, the one that seemed to be staring at me. Finally after much begging and pleading and many promises, mommy gave in and agreed that I could have the little kitten that was already named Tig. I found this to be very ironic, because my uncle, who was my mom’s brother, has been known by the nickname Tig ever since I can remember. I brought Tig home and instantaneously she was a well-liked cat, by everyone. You see I lived in the neighborhood of Billy’s Branch, which is about four miles south of Goose Rock. Billy’s Branch is a very rural small neighborhood where my grandmother’s store stood proudly in the center of everything. Everyone loved Tig and everyone helped me take care of her. She ate table scraps from everyone’s house and in turn she would leave little gifts on the front porch, stoop, or walk for her caretakers, gifts such as small moles, birds, mice, small rabbits, and an occasional black snake. She left these tokens of affection for the payment of her meal.

Years passed and Tig grew bigger, she seemed to grow darker everyday, each year just like clockwork she would give birth to two litters of kittens, needless to say there were offspring kittens as a result that replenished the neighborhood over the years. She was my one true best friend; we played together, took walks together, played in the creek and hills together, and often ate the same thing. My papaw even adored her, and he wasn’t a big fan of cats, but Tig she was the best, she kept all the mice and rats out of Papaw’s barns.

After about ten years Tig’s fur began to gray and she began to slow down, especially having kittens. Her litters were limited to one litter every two years. She began to take more naps than usual, but still she was beautiful and my best friend whom had shared most of my childhood with me. The day I got married she was napping on the front porch, I asked my brother who lived just across the lane from us to take care of her, and he agreed. I stopped almost everyday to visit with my family, and take a few special moments to spend with my best friend. I would sit in the shade and stroke her silky fur, scratch her beneath her chin, and snuggle her close. Other times I would stop at Mamaw’s store to get a pop or candy bar or just to visit for a while, Tig would always come and sit on the front porch with us, and sun bathe in the afternoon sun. I had only moved a few miles away from my homestead and would visit family and friends nearly everyday. That’s just how families were then.

Slowly things began to change, my visits wasn’t as often I was expecting my first child and was often sick and didn’t feel like traveling, not even a few miles. It was a warm summer July morning just weeks before my son was born, I was walking over to my Mamaw’s store to buy a Payday candy bar and Pepsi when I noticed Tig laying in my brother’s front yard. She didn’t leap up to meet me as usual, instead she lay motionless, slowly I walked over to where she lay and whispered in a shaky voice, "Tig." I awaited a reply, but instead there was only silence. I gently nudged her with my toe, but there was no movement. Tears slowly rolled down my cheeks as I said goodbye to a dear friend who had been a big part of my life and one of the best friends that I had ever had. Since then I have had countless kittens, dogs, puppies, fish, and the list could go on and on…but I have never had another pet that could take the place of Tig.