It was a June evening, late, just as the sun was sliding under the horizon in a blazing haze. I’d gone out to fill the birdbath and feeders; and, as I often do in summertime, I sat for awhile in my chair on the terrace. I enjoy looking at my garden in the gathering darkness. It takes on a different life then. The colours are softer, the greens deeper, the scents richer –the air infused with the spicy aroma of stock and exotic sweetness of jasmine– and, on that evening, the smell of hot, dry earth pining for rain.
The air was still hot and close. It had been a scorchingly hot day, heavily pregnant with humidity that had never collected into rain. I heard something dive into the stream that borders the bottom of my garden. Probably the dog from the farm across the stream, trying to cool off. I listened to the splashing about down there. I heard protesting birds, mostly ducks, but also smaller ones who had probably been bathing at the water’s edge.
I’d just stood up to go inside when a tiger, fiery orange and coal black, dripping wet, strolled unevenly toward me from the bottom of the garden. Oddly, it seemed perfectly natural, a tiger in my garden. Perhaps it was the extraordinary heat, or maybe the magic of summer twilight, but it was not at all surprising. It haltingly followed the winding path through my flower beds and stopped at the edge of my thyme lawn, about ten yards away. It held up a front paw when it stopped. It showed no aggression, no fear – no reaction to me other than acknowledgement that I stood there.
We looked at each other for several very long moments.
I spoke to it, very softly. “You’re safe here. Lie down, rest.” It stumbled closer. “You’re safe,” I repeated.
It limped up to me, stopped no more than three or four feet away. It raised its head, and its nose moved from side to side, having a good sniff of me. The poor thing had cuts and scratches all over its body, and it stood unsteadily, repeatedly shifting its weight, as though its feet hurt, and that one paw still held up. I couldn’t see enough to tell whether it was male or female, but it was very large, so I assumed male.
I nearly wept. This magnificent animal had obviously got out of a zoo, I thought, and was completely baffled about how to make his living outside.
“Stay here.” I whispered; I don’t know why. “I’ll bring you some food. Lie down. Rest.”
He actually heaved a huge sigh. Then he lay down. He released another deep sigh and fell immediately to sleep. I watched him for a few minutes, and, again, felt the tears coming. This time I let them fall.
I went inside and rooted about in the kitchen for something to feed him. He looked as though he hadn’t eaten in a while. There was beef mince in the freezer, only a couple of pounds, but it would be a start. I defrosted it in the microwave. Eggs... all those eggs, four dozen, for sponge cakes I had planned to make tomorrow for the stall at the village fete. Well, they could do without my sponges for once. I cracked all the eggs into a stock pot and cooked them a bit. There was some ages-old pork dripping in the fridge. It still smelled all right. I mixed it in with the meat. Then I broke up a loaf of bread and mixed that in as well. All of it piled on the tea tray didn’t look like much food for such a large tiger, but it would have to do for now.
He was sleeping soundly when I went back outside, as though he hadn’t slept for ages. So I put the food on the ground near him. I filled a big bucket with water for him, as well, because I wanted him to stay put until morning.
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