When I was growing up, I had a stuffed tiger named Hopps that I loved more than anything. A friend of my Mom's had given him to me when I was four, and he was supposed to be named 'Hobbes', but I misunderstood and called him Hopps.

He wasn't a particularly handsome tiger. In fact, he didn't even have stripes. He was just a uniform reddish color. But we all considered him a tiger anyway. He had yellow glass eyes, and a very long tail. When squeezed, you could feel that he was full of small objects, probably rice or little beads. His fur was fabulous, because it wasn't made with anything synthetic. Mom said it was probably horse hair, and that I should treat him carefully. I was a little boy, though, so sometimes I was rough. But he never burst any seams. The thread he was held together with was tough, and he was made of some kind of thick leather that held up amazingly well.

When I was in college, Mom got rid of almost all my baby and kid stuff, except for him, at my request. I put him in my lap and looked him over that night I got him back. His sweet, lopsided face was grungy but familiar, and I stroked his hair. A few patches were missing, and the leather underneath had a slick texture that I attributed to age. I stroked those patches and, in a moment of sappy nostalgia, gave his nose a little kiss. Then, wrapping him in a blanket, I put him in the box and sealed it up.

Ten years later, I gave him to my daughter to play with. She got attached to him instantly, and she called him 'Hop'. It made me happy to watch her play with him, and he became a member of the family. My wife let him sit at the table with us, and my daughter fed him bites of her food, which we allowed if she would tie a bib around his neck. His face got sticky and crusty after a while, so my wife wanted to throw him in the wash, but I didn't like the thought of him tumbling around in there, the leather getting soaked, so I bathed him myself, talking to him and using a soft washcloth to get the food off.

My daughter took excellent care of him, and I rarely had to remind her to play with him gently. She had a baby sling that she carried him in, and at night when she slept she sucked on his tail. Some more hair fell out, but he held up incredibly well, and his seams held tight.

I was watching my daughter play with him outside, talking to my Mom on the phone, and I brought him up.

"Good lord, poor guy is still around?"

"Of course he is, he's doing fine!"

"Wasn't he missing all his hair and his eye?"

"Nah, he's just got some bald spots. I know men his age with a lot less hair than he has. And the eye just gives him character."

Mom laughed.

"Who gave him to me, anyway? I can't remember."

"Oh, I had a friend from the aquarium who worked in PR with me. He gave him to me to give to you when you were four, I think. Said he loved it but couldn't have it around."

"Well that's weird. Why couldn't he have it?"

"Oh, I don't know. Chuck was huge on animal rights and he probably didn't like the fact that it was horse hair."

"Yeah, probably."

"You know his name is actually Hobbes, right?"

"Yeah, but I pronounced it-"

"-Hopps!"

"-Hopps."

We laughed.

"Katie calls him "Hop."

"That's cute, I'm glad he's still around to get a little love. Hopefully she treats him better than you did."

"She carries him around in a little baby sling." Mom thought that was a riot, and I promised to text her a picture.

"So how did you know Chuck, again?"

"He and I worked in the same PR department for the aquarium. He was a good man, but I think he had a rough personal life."

"What happened?"

"I don't know the specifics, but I think he had a rough divorce. He quit about a week after he gave me Hobbes, said he needed to go and get a fresh start somewhere. He'd been pretty troubled before that, so I imagine the divorce finalized and he got out of town to start over."

"That's awful."

"How are you and Maddie doing?"

We talked about me and my wife, and about Katie, and eventually we hung up. I checked on my daughter, who was pushing Hop, or Hopps, or Hobbes, on the swing. I told her to play safe and she yelled back that she would.

I watched her, and I thought about how many years of joy and love Hobbes had brought us. In a burst of some strange emotion that made my throat close a little, I vowed to find Chuck and thank him for giving me the tiger so many years ago. So I looked up the aquarium and the old employee records. I found him pretty quick, his name listed right next to my mom's. His name was Chuck Palmer. I looked him up on Facebook and Twitter, but he wasn't on either of those. Not surprising, given that he was probably in his early seventies, but it was worth a shot. I turned to Google, and was surprised to see an article pop up. It was based out of a state across the country, dated about five years ago.

Local Man Arrested in Stunning Development

I clicked on it and began to read.

At the time the article had been written, Chuck was being held in custody for desecration of a corpse after testimony given by the owner of a morgue and funeral home. The owner, who was being charged with a separate crime, claimed that shortly before the funeral, but after the embalming of, Chuck's daughter, Chuck had asked him for a favor. He offered the director a considerable amount of money in return. In debt and desperate, the director agreed, and swept the incident under the rug.

But what, the article questioned, had Chuck done?

Chuck, in jail, was interviewed, and when asked this question, he smiled a 'sad, small smile', and said:

"I wanted her to be loved. But it hurt to hold on, I couldn't do it. So I gave her to someone I knew would love her forever. I made sure she'd be safe."

My heart was thudding around in my chest, and I felt cold. My hands were tingling. My eyes unfocused and got wider and wider and I picked up my phone as I flew out of my chair, running for the backyard. When she answered, I was at the door.

"David? Hi, is everything-"

"HOBBES IS HIS DAUGHTER! IT'S HIS DAUGHTER!"

I wrenched the back door open. My daughter, Hop's tail in her mouth, paused mid stride and looked at me fearfully.

"Daddy?" The tiger's tail fell out of her mouth, the hair wet and matted.

On the other end of the line, my mother was screaming my name.