“[What]… Could frame thy fearful symmetry?” (Blake)
“Never can my dreams engender the wild beast I long for.” (Borges)
So my wife and I agreed to take on a pet tiger. That’s us in the photograph down below – my wife with our baby daughter, me, and our little boy – with said tiger. Not the best of ideas, admittedly, but – as it happened – I was driving home through a rather affluent neighborhood after dropping my son off at daycare, and I saw signs for an estate sale. I turned down the street, parked across the cul de sac from the house. As I made my way up the drive way on crutches (I broke my foot a couple of months ago), there she was: out on the lawn, her strong spine pressed against the bars of her cage, trying to soak in the mid-morning sun. A beautiful creature. The bright coloration of her coat; the near-perfect symmetry in its pattern; the definition of her musculature; the way her limbs were fastened to her body. She stood as I approached, and I stopped, watched her from an impartial distance. She moved back and forth about her cage with a grace outside of my prior experience.
Her current owner – a prince from some tiny country in Africa I’d never heard of – was staying in the house, trying to get things in order. He was obviously distraught about the sale of the tiger, saying he would have kept it if it was at all possible (financially speaking), it had been a member of the family. What’s more, they don’t even have tigers where he’s from, this is the first he’d ever seen.
However, he was not able to care for her, so he was offering her up on the cheap. I told him I’d be back, went to an ATM to get some cash, though the spot he was in, the guy probably would have paid me to take her. I didn’t ask details, if someone died or what, and if not, why he was selling all these things, but still – I recognize a desperate person when I see one. I was even able to talk him into having one of his servants follow me home with the cage in the back of his truck. Free delivery. Desperate as he was, though, he didn’t really offer up the hard sell, even tried to warn me off about the realities of owning a tiger. He gave me intricate instructions on feeding, exercise, and hygiene – la di da da dah – I figured that was mostly because he was lonely, didn’t really want me to take her – that he was just trying to prolong the goodbye.
I suppose it’s not fair that I fully implicate my wife here, as I made the initial decision to get the tiger myself, she only supported me on it. And while this has been a theme for us lately – I recently quit a job with an asshole boss without having another lined up – still, I am grateful that my wife trusts me enough to know I’ll come through the other side of times like these. It’s been an admittedly tough year: my brother passed away; I accidentally let my wife’s cat out, and she got run over by a car; then one morning, the kid had been screaming about going to school, and I was so frustrated, I kicked the wall, ended up in an out-of-network ER. Ex-pensive. So right now, I’m job hunting with a broken right foot, and I’m not even supposed to drive – according to my doctor – not until I get off crutches. I’m sure you can imagine how much help I am around the house. Truly, though, my wife is a great sport. And so, when she came home and saw the tiger, she welcomed her into our family, understanding how important it was to me.
We named her Helen, though I’m not sure why. The only other woman I know named Helen was my brother’s ex-wife – who had left him last year, just before… well, that’s another story.
Anyway, I knew what our family and friends would think, I won’t pretend I didn’t – we have a new house, a four year-old, a new baby, and a dog – did we really need a tiger? What’s more, tigers have to be expensive, and I just quit my job. But when you’re blessed with home and family like we are, I believe you have a responsibility to share it.
It was, in fact, a great expense. At over 400 lbs, her food alone maxed a credit card in just under three weeks. But that part was worth it – she was one of the family – and otherwise, she had all the makings of a great pet: a wonderful, even temperament (for a cat); my son was fascinated by her (he loves animals, especially tigers); and she minded so well we felt like we didn’t have to constantly keep her in the cage. Nosey neighbors and Jehovah’s witnesses quit stopping by. Helen spent most days basking in the sun on the grassy hill in our back yard, and I would sit at the kitchen window and watch her as I sipped my morning coffee, my evening beer. Through an admittedly rough couple of weeks searching for jobs, I really felt like I had a great new friend. My foot healed and soon I was off crutches, back in a shoe twice as fast as the ortho had predicted. I can only attribute this to the positive effect Helen had on my mood. Sure, life is scary sometimes, but you have to be present, focus on what’s natural and beautiful.
That said, we came to our senses pretty quickly. It turned out Helen was really too big to cuddle (We tried, she broke the bed frame!). She played a little too vigorously sometimes (Play-biting, she gnawed the fingers a bit hard – especially the night we had steak for dinner). And more to the point, we have a full house as it is.
And sure, I admit it, tigers can be dangerous. All the time on these reality TV shows, you see people who think they can house black mambas or a pet baboon or something. They think their love – great as it may be – is enough to tame these wild creatures. But we know it never works out that way – not like it did for the man who had the pet lion as a boy, sought it out in the wild, and it remembered him. You saw that video, right? It went viral a while back – where the grown lion jumped up and licked the grown man’s face like it was a puppy dog. But it doesn’t really ever work out like that. No, usually someone gets maimed, and usually, it’s the general consensus that if it’s only the guy who took the tiger in to begin with then that’s a good thing.
Well, not me. I’m not that guy.
I didn’t like doing it, but I agreed to take her back to the prince. Admittedly, I was/am a little embarrassed – thinking I could take care of her to begin with when a prince couldn’t. I do recognize the absurdity. Further, I realize the part that this had played in making what was probably a bad decision to begin with. As I initially said to my wife: Would I not be a prince in my own country? If such things were more democratic?
Alas, no.
My wife and the kids are out of town this weekend, visiting relatives. I promised to sort out the tiger situation by the time they were headed back, so that was how I spent my Saturday. I didn’t have the prince’s contact info, so I decided to just put her in the car, take her over there. I would have to rent a U-Haul to bring the cage (or maybe the prince would loan me his truck), but I could go ahead and get her home. It would be a nice surprise for the man, lonely and sad as he seemed to be at losing her to begin with.
Of course, nothing is ever easy. What happens as I’m putting Helen in the car? The next door neighbor girl comes out, wants to run up and pet Helen, as neighbor girl’s never seen a tiger up close before. And isn’t that the way it goes? Something bad always waiting to happen just when you’re trying to do the right thing. I put up my hands, shouted to the neighbor girl: Stay back! I waved my arm toward the car, told Helen to get in, but she ignored me. She turned her side to the neighbor girl, eyed her the whole time the girl was approaching. When the neighbor girl came within a few feet, Helen snarled.
I closed my eyes, braced for R-rated gore.
But, turns out, neighbor girl is pretty good with animals. She scratched behind Helen’s ears, rolled her over, rubbed her belly. They were pretty good buddies by the time it was done. I thought I might get the prince’s number and pass it on to her parents if they were interested.
When the neighbor girl and Helen were done making friends, I finally got the tiger in the car. Like I said: I’m not that guy. I can recognize beauty, appreciate the perfection of natural symmetry, and not feel like I have to own it.
I can love and let go – let the letting go be what’s mine.
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Edit post:
I say I’m not that guy. Perhaps I should also say Helen is not that tiger. I mean, after all, she suffered the neighbor girl running up to her, let herself be stroked and scratched. While those are in fact nice ways to play, I could see a lesser tiger not having it.
Oh, and the cutest thing! Driving back to the African prince’s estate, the car sagged and scraped the road at every turn, and – that damn tiger! She crawled into the back of the car, crammed herself into the kid’s car seat. Of course, I tried to get a picture with my phone. It nearly caused an interstate pile-up, but, if I do say so myself: totally worth it. I haven’t uploaded it to my laptop yet (feeling lazy), but I’ll be sure to share it next time.
Helen – we had a short time together, but the memories we made will last forever!