I had this crazy idea of creating a blog for my stuffed tiger Armanth and telling his story. Most of it will be fiction, but still based on some facts. I took plenty of pictures of him wearing his clothes (he has about 200+ USD worth of clothes, shoes, and outfits) to use on his blog. My awesome digital camera made perfect shots every time.

The ones I liked best were the ones with him wearing an orange-and-blue windbreaker-and-hood (some of the pictures now adorn my blog as of Mar ’05). The color of the outfit complemented him. It brought out his adorable tigerness. I went “Aww!” and even squealed like a little girl as I took his pictures. It felt like the time I first held him.

Meet Armanth. He is tough, cool, and cuddly.

I got Armanth about 3 years ago in Disneyland Anaheim. They had a Build-a-Bear Workshop there and that was where I got Armanth. I remembered searching through a barrel of unstuffed tigers (you get to stuff them yourself) and looking at their faces. I do not know what exactly I was looking for, but all I know was that I wanted a connection somehow. I did not want just any stuffed tiger, I wanted Armanth. I went looking for Armanth when I went into the store. I knew his name even before I found him.

When I found Armanth, I could have sworn that there was a jolt. I looked into those round, shiny plastic eyes and saw life. Sure, his whiskers were all over the place, the tail was bent oddly, and the fur around his paws and muzzle were not perfect, but he captivated me right then and there. Maybe it is because the way his head was built or the way his muzzle was shaped. It could even be the way his eyes were sewn into his head. He got me and got me good.

Although he got my attention, his flaws forced me to look for another tiger. I eventually found one that is just perfect in every way. The whiskers were aligned just right and the eyes were spaced evenly. But my thoughts kept coming back to that tiger that looked right back at me. I do not know what possessed me to go back to Armanth, while I was in line and with the perfect tiger in my hand ready to be stuffed, but it happened. I went back, tossed the perfect back into the pile, and went searching for Armanth. I immediately recognized him, with his imperfect paws, oddly bent tail, and strange piercing gaze. He made me smile and even though he put a bullet through my wallet that day, I had no regrets.

He is a cool cat. I trimmed his tiger bear using a nose clipper. Look at him, is he not adorable?

I can become easily attached to things that are not alive or real. Why else would I cry with Luisa or share my secrets with my favorite toys? I even remember one time mourning when I lost a small Goofy pencil top that I became attached to. Why do I feel guilty when not playing a particular Charizard from two others in my Pokémon game? Why do I get upset when I realize that I have not played a particular character in Zebedee LP MUD? Some children have pets to love, others have passions. All I had are make-believe characters and toys and I guess I never outgrew it. I think it has also spread to things other than toys. I know of no one else who feels guilty about using a certain pen more than another one!