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but the tiger stayed focused on me. Matt elbowed me, and I broke eye contact.
    “That’s really strange,” Matt said.
    I asked him, “What’s wrong? What’s going on? Why is he looking at us?”
    He shrugged. “It’s never happened before. I don’t know.”
    Ren finally turned away from us and began his normal routine. After the show was over and I had finished cleaning up, I went to visit Ren, who was pacing in his cage. When he saw me, he sat down, settled himself, and placed his head on his paws. I walked up to the cage.
    “Hey, Ren. What’s going on with you today, Mister? I’m worried about you. I hope you aren’t getting sick or something.”
    He rested quietly, but kept his eyes on me and followed my movements. I approached the cage slowly. I felt drawn to the animal and couldn’t seem to block out a very strong, dangerous compulsion. It was almost a tangible pull. Maybe it was because I felt we were both lonely or maybe it was because he was such a beautiful creature. I don’t know the reason, but I wanted—I
needed
—to touch him.
    I knew it was risky, but I wasn’t scared. Somehow, I
knew
that he wouldn’t hurt me, so I ignored the red-alert bells dinging in my head. My heart began beating very fast. I took another step closer to the cage and stood there for a moment, shaking. Ren wasn’t moving at all. He just continued to look at me calmly with his vivid blue eyes.
    I slowly reached my hand out toward the cage, stretching just my fingertips to his paw. I made contact and touched his soft, white fur with the tips of my fingers. He exhaled a deep sigh, but other than that he didn’t move. Feeling braver, I placed my whole hand on top of his paw, petted it, and traced one of his stripes with my finger. The next thing I knew, his head moved toward my hand. Before I could pull my hand out of the cage, he licked it. It tickled.
    I withdrew my hand quickly. “Ren! You scared me! I thought you were going to bite off my fingers!” I tentatively held out my hand near the cage again, and his pink tongue darted out between the bars to lick my hand. I let him lick a few more times, and then headed over to the sink and washed the tiger saliva off.
    Returning to my favorite spot by the hay bale, I said, “Thanks for not eating me.”
    He huffed quietly in response.
    “What would you like to read today? How about that cat poem I promised you?”
    I sat down, opened my poetry book, and found the right page. “Okay, here goes.”

    I AM THE CAT
    by Leila Usher
    In Egypt, they worshiped me
    I am the Cat.
    Because I bend not to the will of man
    They call me a mystery.
    When I catch and play with a mouse,
    They call me cruel,
    Yet they take animals to keep
    In parks and zoos, that they may gape at them.
    They think all animals are made for their pleasure,
    To be their slaves.
    And, while I kill only for my needs,
    They kill for pleasure, power and gold,
    And then pretend to a superiority!
    Why should I love them?
    I, the Cat, whose ancestors
    Proudly trod the jungle,
    Not one ever tamed by man.
    Ah, do they know
    That the same immortal hand
    That gave them breath, gave breath to me?
    But I alone am free
    I am THE CAT .
    I closed my book and gazed reflectively at the tiger. I imagined him proud and noble, racing through the jungle on a hunt. I suddenly felt very, very sorry about his situation.
It can’t be a good life, performing in a circus, even if you have a good trainer. A tiger isn’t a dog or a cat to be somebody’s pet. He should be free in the wild.
    I stood up and walked back over to the tiger. Hesitantly, I reached my hand into his cage to pat his paw again. Immediately, his tongue flew out to lick my hand. I laughed at first and then sobered. Slowly, I moved my hand up to his cheek and stroked the soft fur. Then, feeling brave, I scratched him behind his ear. A deep vibration rumbled in his throat, and I realized he was purring. I grinned and scratched his ear some more.
    “Like that, do