A Birder And A Tiger

THE BIRDER AND THE TIGER by Neil McCall

When, on the grassy plains of North India, the birdwatcher came
face-to-face with a fully-grown tiger, he thought that he was going to
die, first of elation and then of sheer terror. He was going to die, of
course, of rending claw and grinding jaw, but we'll return there
shortly. With a pang, he regretted that he had left his camera in the
jeep; "Wildlife Photographer Of The Year" would have been a wonderful
award, even if posthumous. With a greater pang, he regretted that he
had also left his wife in the jeep, holding his camera, for although he
had no hope of outrunning the tiger, he was almost sure that he could
outrun his wife. He looked into those beautiful gold feline eyes and
thought he could discern intelligence; intelligence, and fierce hunger,
not the best of combinations from his point of view.

"Nice pussy," he whimpered. The tiger made a noise from deep within its
huge throat; it was not "Miaow!"

Desperately he searched through his wallet and pulled out his World
Wildlife Fund membership card portraying a tiger on the cover, and
showed the card to the real tiger standing before him. It moved a step
nearer, but remained unimpressed. He flashed the rest of his cards; The
National Trust, RSPB, Greenpeace, Wildfowl And Wetlands Trust; he
twirled his bush hat so the tiger could see all the wildlife badges his
wife had sewn on, but still the tiger padded towards him, slowly and
inexorably. He considered diving behind a tree, in the hope that, as in
Little Black Sambo, the tiger would run round and round the tree until
it turned into a heap of melted butter, but he was too late; the tiger
was upon him!

"I've got green credentials!" he screamed, as the tiger went for his
throat.

The tiger crunched contentedly, and pondered why it was that humans
were such liars, for, of course, the birder's credentials turned out to
be red and juicy, just like the rest of him.