The Biggest Tiger Ever

Shortly after Christmas, I’d had it with everything. I placed an ad in the local:

DOOR UNLOCKED! ONE NITE ONLY!

released the latch and pretended to go to sleep. I did not have to wait long. It was a glorious night of mischief in the dark: creakings, a shhhhh on the stairs, whispers and giggles at the threshold. I heard it all, yes, and I tried to join in or at least make notes, but drifted, wakening at dawn when the biggest tiger ever crept into the bathroom. I got up quickly and - what do you think? – locked it in the shower. I heard it pacing the stall, teeth scraping against the glass, Ghrrrrrrr! Ghrrrrrrrr! Then I called you: Listen up. I’ve a tiger in the bath.

Why? I couldn’t resist. Why? I want attention. But why? Because. Because I can. This make sense to you? Yes, I thought it would. But now what? Here, where can we go from here?

You rang at noon and we took tea, nary a word spoken of the outraged meerouwwws heard above us. At last you pushed aside your cup and said Let’s get this over with. I followed, silent, up the stair. You turned to me: Why did you lock the door? To keep the tiger in, I said. You paused, looked me up and down: That’s not what I meant, you know.

It’s what I meant, I said. You pulled me to you as we stood outside the tiger’s room. I don’t know whose scent was stronger. I’ll wait, I said. One of you will return, unlocked.