Bye Bear

I don't have fond memories of the launch night of Big Brother in 2004. I don't have particularly fond memories of any Big Brother launch night I suppose, but 2004 was particularly bad because that's the night my cat died. Tigger had been part of our family for 18 years. Yes, that's right she was old enough to vote so she'd had a good innings (not that I ever saw her with a cricket bat, or a voter registration form for that matter).

Little five year old Tina came home from church with her brother and dad and watched through the window of the conservatory as Dusty gave birth to one of the last of litter.

We already had a dog, Bruno, and along with Dusty we were allowed to keep one of the kittens.

Tigger won my mum over by sitting on her foot instead of the cold conservatory floor. She soon became my cat; I was her favourite and she was mine.

We're all so little!

The night she died I came home from being out and, after watching the opening night of Big Brother 5, I found her in the first throes. I wish I had looked for Tigger right when I came home like I normally did instead of being lured into a crap hyped-up television show.

Blurry shot of her, but digital photography was in its infancy when Tigger was around.

Tonight is the England - Ukraine game and no matter what the score is I won't have fond memories of it either because today Sox died.

We didn't get a cat after Tigger died. It was a deliberate decision and one that lasted a solid two years. I was in North Carolina when news reached me that my parents had befriended a stray cat that had been appearing in the garden for a while. By the time I was home a few months later Sox was well set up.

Sox didn't eat too many more meals outside after he arrived with my parents.

I didn't get to spend a whole lot of time with him until after I was back from Singapore. We were originally just acquaintances in the same shared space, but he soon won me over too. After the coal incident it took a while, but we got there. He was even allowed to sleep at the foot of my bed, a place that Tigger had also been allowed.

For a while after I was back I called him Soxopher. I like to think of it as his full name. Soon enough he became Soxybear or The Bear, or just Bear. This name came from the bear outfit my nephew wore when he was a newborn baby. Just a few months ago Johnny pointed out to me that Soxybear wasn't a bear at all and I had to tell him the why he was called this, lest he think his Cool Aunt Tina was a complete idiot when it comes to animal recognition.

There is no doubt that Soxybear was my mum's cat. I used to tease her that "My Tigger - God rest her soul" never had the same number of cat accoutrements that Soxybear had. Honest-a-patience, that cat had more things to sleep on than I do. No really. 

The Bear in his igloo.

Soxybear was a very sweet cat, with a nice personality. Our theory is that he had been abused before he arrived with my parents because he really didn't like big noises like shouting or hoovering and practically no one could touch his back legs and expect to get away with it. (Probably why he was scared of me for a while after that unfortunate coal episode.) He seemed to trust us though and I think we gave him a really good home for six years. He gave just the right amount of head butts to tell you he wanted something and purred loudly when he was pleased with life.

I'm glad my parents are the sort of people that like animals and look after them well. And I'm glad that their hearts can be melted by a stray cat because as much as right now I feel like the end of Marley and Me, I wouldn't want to be without the Soxybear in the Soxybear Years.