Passing a spotted leopard at my favorite shop, I had to stop and pat it. Fierce, meaty bodied, pricey. Strangely pinkish but gorgeous, nothing I could’ve dreamed up.

I couldn’t get it out of my mind. Neither could I just go and buy it. When I finally went back it was gone. There was this other thing, though, only $5. It seemed not too much to waste.

I scrubbed its belly stains. Squeezed its paws, let them drip into the sink. Hung it out under the African sky.

 



 

 P.S. I thought up that perfect last part and then Paulson told me tigers live in Asia. Asia, Shirley, Asia.

 





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