The Adventures of Taro: Taro and the Tiger

Taro is the family cat. More properly, he is my mom’s cat. Or maybe more accurately, he is the divine cat overlord of the household, lord and master of all he surveys. Which is the entire house. And the people in it. And anyone who comes to visit. An adorable collection of floofy fur and various neuroses (results of a traumatizing kittenhood), all wrapped up in a 20-pound ball of quintessential catness.

In the early days, he was also a very nervous cat. Sudden movements by those pesky humans would sometimes result in a sudden cloud of loose fur manifesting in the space once occupied by a cat. And he was really quite agile – although he was a good 7 pounds, when startled he could literally jump up about 4 feet, do an amazing mid-air back-flip somersault, and hit the ground running in the opposite direction as fast as four furred feet would carry him. Ears back and claws out.

It was best not to stand in the way when he was startled.

He was also the MOST prideful cat we’d ever had. I mean, yes, I understand that all cats are inherently full of catty confidence and self assurance about their natural superiority over all other forms of life. But this cat, he just took the prize. And he didn’t like being wrong about things. And he HATED being laughed at. Which was probably a bad thing, ‘cause in our family we always laugh at each other.

This situation didn’t fit well with his little kitty sensibilities, and quite often he’d get his little kitty feelings hurt by the big mean humans laughing at some silly thing he’d done. And he’d be embarrassed about it as well. He typical reaction to the laughter would be to first try to pretend it didn’t affect him. At all. Taking an almost prim sitting pose, he’d pretend to groom his shoulder for a few licks. But that was about all the posing he could handle, because he’s also something of a hothead. All too soon, the snickering would get to him, and he’d loudly meow his displeasure at us and take off running for the parent’s room, there to sulk and nurse his embarrassment in private.

Which, of course, only made the mean humans laugh LOUDER.

(Yes, I know, we’re mean, mean humans. But I mean, honestly, when a cat passes gas in front of you, then whirls around trying to figure out where that strange noise came from, THEN whirls around AGAIN when he passes more gas, what can you do BUT giggle helplessly?)

Now, back when I was in college, I got my mom a framed poster of a white tiger, laying down among some foliage, seemingly gazing a little off to the side of the camera. Mom liked the poster, and we had it hanging in the living room for a couple years before Mr. Floofybutt came to live with us. It’s a pretty good photo. The poster itself wasn’t too big, maybe like 18” x 24” in size. This poster remained on the wall until the quake in ’94 knocked it down. Dad propped it up against the wall on the floor for a while.

It had been there for a few days before Taro noticed it.

So one day, the family is gathered in the living room watching TV together. Taro decided that he would deign to enter the room and grace us with his presence, and paced gracefully into the room, head and tail held high in regal elegance. He noticed something off to the side, and kind of glanced at it, then turned his attention back to see if his majestic entrance was being suitably appreciated by the masses.

I guess it took a little while for the neurons in this little self-importance-bloated kitty brain to fire, because all of a sudden his eyes went REALLY WIDE and he did a double-take.

It was the tiger poster on the ground.

Now to be fair, the poster was half-hidden behind a large speaker. And, at that angle, it ALMOST looked like it could be a VERY large cat, laying there. But still.

We tried to stifle giggles as Taro’s floofy fur began to puff out, and his posture immediately changed from imperial presence to intense wariness. Crouching, he moved slowly to the side, as if trying to avoid direct eye contact with this interloper, while still “checking out” the competition.

Then he came to the edge of the poster. And blinked his blue eyes. And realized his would-be opponent wasn’t a cat at all, but a two-dimensional representation of one. His posture immediately relaxed. Then tensed again, as behind him his family erupted in laughter.

We tried not to laugh. Honest. But... you have to admit it was just too funny.

He looked at us with wide, hurt eyes, as if unable to understand why we’d find his momentary terror so utterly entertaining. Then he blinked and sat, trying to ignore us and the world in general, as if we all didn’t matter to him in the slightest. But as usual, he could not long maintain this pose, and so he fled, an accusatory meow trailing behind him like a emo teenager’s angrily shouted “I HATE YOU” to a parent after being lectured and grounded.

Mom felt so bad, she went to try to comfort his offended sensibilities. While the rest of us continued to giggle.

And thus ends the tale of Taro and the Tiger.