Morning. The mud felt wonderous against my skin. I purred in pleasure and twisted my body so that my other side was covered with the cool substance. I opened my eyes; the world was a rosy color that lightened the rocks and fake trees of the cage. Idris, the male tiger that sat on the opposite side of the enclosure, swung his tail lazily. He appeared here a week ago. His stark-white fur contrasted sharply with my orange and black coat. I rolled my body in the dirt once more, basking in the only positive part of my day, and sat up abruptly. I shook myself, brown chunks flecked off my body. Idris growled at my sudden movement.

“Sorry.” I snarled back. He pursed his lips and muttered something illegible as he settled back down. I stood lethargically and sauntered over to the watering hole. I stuck my pink tongue in the clouded water and inhaled. The cool liquid swirled down my throat, relieving my parched body. A loud banging sound drew my attention to the wall in front of me. I prowled closer. They say that a caged tiger is dangerous. I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t true. Two-legged animals stared at me in front of the glass. Their eyes widen in apprehension and awe. They point at my ebony stripes and marvel at my fiery fur. While, I’ve always admired attention, I resent being show-cased like some exotic thing that came across the waters. I despise the animals that look at me, watch me, haunt me. In my dreams, I frolicked in diverse jungles and flat plains, finally free. But I open my eyes to eyes staring back at me. In front of the glass, I saw one of the two-legged beasts. It was smaller than the others, though, a runt. It was adorned in some outfit that matched shockingly with my fur. I stalked over to the glass.

            “Run, little one.” I growled. “While you still can.”