If you have never owned a tiger, keep this in mind: a cat is the next best thing. Diminished in form and stature, their eyes flashing green or yellow or orange, they prowl through the house as if it were their very own jungle. Look! - they say; - a balled-up newspaper, why? How dare it intrude!
    And thus the cat's paw, darting, is called delightful, perfectly adorable; not here the savage African man-eater. Of course, keep this in mind: a cat is even better in some respects, with all due commendation to our striped lords in the savanna. For who has ever heard of such thing as a tiger purring? Not we! No, you can depend on them (of course, once the threat of the newspaper has been negated) to approach you and positively vibrate with satisfaction. A cat shall be small, and it shall be clean and quiet; no roars of rage shall pass by their delicate white fangs.
    Do not be fooled, however, by this appearance of pampered, soft companionship. For they are tigers in their own right, as anybody who has seen them bring down the poor, fearsome hummingbird or the sneaking gray mouse knows. In their claws live the spirits of their ancestors the wildcats, and though they have habituated to our homes since the ancient Cretan boy slept his final sleep beneath the earth with one, they have not forgotten hunger nor the feel of blood in their mouth. They choose to live with us, not the other way around, and what more could one desire from a tiger? A cat, after all, is – Look! A ball of yarn!