Beware the fury of a patient man. -- John DrydenA tiger is an animal of unmittigated cunning. So cunning, in fact, it's cuddly feline appearance may oft' times lead more naive animals into the mistaken belief it is simply a big pussycat. Beware the pussycats. They have the ability to become cunning and cruel at the drop of a hat.
There are many juveniles on the planet unable to fathom the depth of this, or any, creature's wild nature. Animals are soft, cuddly cartoons. Animals are what the parents buy to compensate for exorbitant babysitting fees. {sidenote: babysitters: What are they really after?}
-Don't stick your hand in the tiger's cage.-
The more spoiled a child is raised the less respect it has for the very real mortal danger of living. Felinus domesticus is a slighter descendant of the lion, leopard, or tiger family of big cats. If you have been trained to interact with these creatures at a carnival or zoological sideshow in a more or less laboratorially controlled environment, then... and only then... maybe you could walk away with your arm still connected to your shoulder. Even then the outcome is dependent on the humor of the cat on this particular day. There is no Hollywood script for a tiger. Behind their eyes swirl the mysteries of the ages. 'Professional animal handlers' know what makes these big cats tick, they have 'hands-on' experience, and still they know enough to never take these creatures for granted. Just because you play the wii or the ps2 doesn't even begin to suggest that you could escape with your heart still beating after a slightly pms tigress gets her claws into you. The attack of a tiger is ferocity exemplified. Make your peace with the Lord God Almighty before you stick your hand in that cage, boy.
Let's call you the lucky monkey, shall we? You step right up, stick your hand between the barrier of civilization and primordial eternity... the tiger leaps... all claws, fangs, and stripes barrel assing towards your little monkey paw. You retract the offer. Twelve to fifteen inches of razor sharp hooks burst through the same barrier. They plow four gashes through your Louis Vitton varsity jacket. A crimsom liquid rushes the torn material. After all, you're the lucky monkey. A couple of authoritarian lumberjacks open fire and the cat goes down. Lucky,...lucky... lucky.
There have been humans eaten by cats since the beginning of history. Check out a museum,an art gallery, a library, the world wide web,... The information is out there. Educate yourself if noone is willing to take you by the hand and tell you -Don't stick your hand in the tiger's cage.-
Personally, I find that zoological gardens always leave me gray. I guess if anyone wants to rid the world of terrorism and terroristic attacks they could quite possibly make a big name for themselves by stopping the subhuman, lowlifes that would kill one of God's most stunning creatures, by this I mean the poachers and not the defenders of civilization. I live in this place which has been named after a very particular, very peculiar saint. He was of the inspired ideology 'If God loves the birds of the sky, how much more does He love us?' Even if you get rushed out of the zoo in an ambulance, you're the lucky monkey.
Those gentlemen with the artillary, or firesticks as we used to call them are our explanation of how far we have come from beating off the creeping nocturnal beasts. They are the necessary defense for the antics of lucky monkeys who stick their arms in the tiger's cage. It's a thankless job but even in the 21st century it seems still of necessity.
I will pray for the soul of the child who stuck it's arm in the tiger's cage. More so will I weep for the extinction of Tatiana.
