DO NOT DISTURB

This is my cat. I hang my head in shame at his name but I gave in to family pressure and allowed him to be called "Tigger." He was born about 14 years ago under a shed to a feral mother getting on in years. We called her Sibyl. She had two sons, both almost without voices. The other was called "Peep." At the appointed time, all three went off to the vet for "the operation." No more voiceless cats in these parts.

All three remained fairly wild but did not hesitate to come close for their dinners. Then Lui, an abandoned mutt, appeared on the scene and Sybil and her two sons took off into the woods. A full six months later Sibyl and Tigger returned. Peep either came to a bad end or found a good home. Both mother and son looked well fed. Their self-imposed exile could not have been too hard.

Lui soon learned not to chase cats and, indeed, Sybil used to chase him -- a sight to behold -- if Lui got too playful. Tigger was orphaned when he was about eight. He was so used to having his mother do his thinking that he scarcely knew what to do. He is not the brainy cat his mother was, anyway.

Gradually, Tigger moved into my office. He is still very wary and does not go in for all the brushing and ear scratching most cats enjoy. He rejected a posh, wicker basket and only cares for boxes with which my office is littered.

I had to wake him up to take this picture. He was not best pleased. This is his mother who also had a fondness for close fits in beds. Sibyl