Okay, okay, okay. I know, already, I am the opposite end of the spectrum from Ruby, the Incredible Wide Eyed Stuffed Monkey.
I am nothing but a Third World stuffed toy, created by Third World child labor, somewhere in Asia, by Capitalistic, yet unregulated manufacturers who find anything for a dollar buyers in the North American market place. But first, how did I get here? Easy, breezy – Shipping containers, chock full of merchandise totally flood the North American market and end up in various stores where they sell all their products at one price. You know what chains of stores I mean.
Somehow, somewhere I ended up in a store, east of the Big Smoke. My Auntie Goodie-Two-Shoes was buying stocking stuffers and grabbed me, without any real intent, except to fill a Christmas Stocking. But what was me, you ask?
A little golden-brown striped tiger, with cream tipped toes and tail, the size of six-week old kitty, with felt ears, small glassy eyes and a will to survive. Oh and the inside there was no plush filling. It was straw I bled, (like the Scare Crow in The Wizard of Oz, you ask?) when RIP Zanny, the family pet, disciplined me, frequently. It seemed I had a lot to learn!
And so, Christmas Morning 2002, stockings were distributed and I was pulled out and placed on the coffee table as other gifts were being opened. That was when, Zanny, buried in tissue paper, chasing bows and balls, and all things that glittered, spied me. Quick as a wink, this little rat snatching Yorkshire Terrier, a product of her breeding and DNA, kidnapped me, from the table and trotted to her dog pillow in the kitchen and deposited me down. All those Two Footed cooed, ‘Isn’t that so cute?’ It seemed no one heard my silent screams as her teeth trapped me firmly in her little mouth. Even Teddy, the American Eskimo, who held me in contempt, because he had no time for toys, and would never come near me, shook his head. These Two Footed are so naïve, his dour expression read.
Once I had the dubious honor of being claimed, it seems I had to be named. Momma looked at those fine stripes and decided, a teeny tiny tiger like me, should be called Tigger, like Winnie the Pooh’s pal. This time Teddy rolled his eyes around and around. What gives? Does Momma not know tigers are ferocious? It seems to have escaped her general knowledge . I know that I never won any battles with Zanny but on the other hand, I am still here to tell the story. I just don’t have that Tiger-takes all-killer instinct. I suspect I am just a kitty that looks like a Tiger.
Trust me, I am sure, Zanny meant no harm when she shook me till her brain rattled, gouged my ears, and my underbelly so that I bled straw. I was so small, easy to transport, so bite size, you might say. I fit perfectly into her mouth. You know, maybe she was trying to be kind when she took me outside with her (or was it punishment because if she had to go, so did I? Who knows?) But then, blonde that she was (no, she was actually a beautiful silver-gray and tan Yorkie), she would leave me outside. Now it is a known fact tigers live in jungles in countries that the equator run through, where it is hot, hot, hot. My blood is too thin to appreciate the usual land of snow banks and icebergs that are omnipresent in a Canadian winter. Anyway, is there not laws against abandoning dependents in snow banks? I will have to ask Jakita to check that out in her Policies and Procedures for all (somewhat) Living Creatures.
But then something happened to Zanny. I heard rumors, (little pitchers with big ears). All I know was a sad Momma sewed up my holes, reattached what was left of my left ear and placed me on top of a harvest horn brimming full of fall flowers, on her book shelf where I had a clear, unrestricted view of Ruby on Momma’s bed. Each day Ruby would be removed at night, put back in the day. I wondered if Ruby knew how much I longed for Momma to pick me, just touch me but she was busy, I know and I was safe. Why was I so ungrateful?
Months went by, then years and I was almost resigned to a life without adventure. I mean, Zanny, for all of her faults, included me in all her activities. She even took me to bed at night to cuddle, carried me to the doggie pillow every morning, so there was a certain gain,
if I could take the pain. Still, and I am not complaining, days were long and nights were longer when I was in wait mode. Then, a miracle – one day when…what was that? Did I hear a little yap, a whimper, a concentrated effort to actually bark? My pulse quickened. I felt a Rescue coming down and I was so ready. I wanted to live again, I’d even settle for a Zanny type but please Dear God, make this puppy a little more genteel, teeth just a little more forgiving. Oh, and I hate staying out on cold dark nights so as the Scare Crow in Wizard of Oz laments, please Dear God, if it is in your power could it be arranged for the puppy to ‘only have a brain’. Thank you, God. Amen.
Little did I know my world was going to be changed irrevocably…and it is all good!
