ONCE upon a time in a quiet suburb, there was a cat named Whiskers who carried the spirit of a fierce tiger within him. With 97 per cent of the tiger’s genetic blueprint, Whiskers, in his own mind, was more than a match for any jungle’s king. Yet he found himself in the absurd predicament of living in the land of human giants who considered him their ‘fluffy little pet’. The irony, to put it mildly, was not lost on him.

Whiskers’ daily life was the perfect representation of the phrase “a tiger in a cat’s body”. He woke up every morning with the raw instinct to hunt and prowl, only to be awakened by the coos of his human, Betty. “Wake up, my adorable little furball,” Betty would say, utterly oblivious to the simmering frustration within Whiskers.

Betty, a human of considerable height, had an equally large heart. She was smitten by Whiskers, her love ranging from patting his soft fur to squeezing him into affectionate, if rather suffocating, hugs.

However, her tender touch was met with the quiet indignation of a tiger, who, in a different context, would rule the jungle.

Instead of stalking and hunting in the underbrush, Whiskers was condemned to chase after neon-coloured feather toys and laser pointers, his inner tiger cringing at such indignity. His meals, rather than consisting of the raw power of nature’s food chain, were meticulously prepared gourmet cat food — filled with nutrients and absolutely void of any thrill of the hunt.

Playdates were a whole other debacle. Rather than engaging in the silent power play of the jungle, Whiskers was expected to fraternise with the neighbourhood cats, who seemed all too content chasing their tails and basking in the human giants’ adoration.

But Whiskers’ greatest challenge came when Betty would pat him lovingly and ask, “Who’s a good boy?” Confused and affronted, Whiskers would respond with a curt meow, silently declaring, “I am a tiger, the epitome of raw strength and majesty. Not a ‘good boy’.”

One day, the tides seemed to turn when the front door was left ajar. A spark of rebellion ignited in Whiskers. He darted out the door, ready to unleash his inner tiger on the unsuspecting world. But soon enough, he found himself sprawled under a tree in the backyard, lazily napping in the warm sunlight. His moment of glory was brief, but also pleasantly comfortable.

Over time, Whiskers found an unexpected silver lining. He took pleasure in surprising Betty with spontaneous ‘pounces’, reminding her ever so often of his tiger origins. Although she often misinterpreted these actions as playful antics, Whiskers knew the truth — he was a tiger at heart, merely playing along in the world of giants.

And so, Whiskers continued his life, filled with paradoxical indignities and small victories. His existence was a peculiar blend of a pampered pet’s life and the lingering spirit of a wild tiger. While he sometimes yearned for the thrill of the jungle, he also took solace in the endless scratches behind his ears and the warm, if somewhat over-bearing, love of his human.

After all, not every tiger could claim to have tamed a giant. Think about it.

Lord Byron
Dubai

Published in Dawn, September 18th, 2023