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Artwork: Cat Path by Will Jacques

Tiger
Dan A. Cardoza

I remember the exact day I received the call: November 28th, 2013. There are three dead poachers, and one dead tiger. In this deadly game of death, we all lose, especially our humanity.

Two Amur cubs, a male and female, are now orphans, and I am again being asked to assist, and at the very least accept. I am asked to adopt one of the cubs and to provide him a new home in my large sanctuary. I say thanks for calling, but no thanks. I am not taking any more cubs, regardless of the species. I have never raised a Siberian Tiger, but enough is enough. I am done after twenty-two years.

My friend Nikolay, a Russian biologist with the Ministry of National Resources, is very persuasive. But to be honest, I convinced myself to take just one more of these magnificent creatures.

Not long after my arm-twisting phone conversation, I find myself in the city of Tyumen, in Siberia, Russia, completing the balance of my three-month acclimation program and required training. After an exhaustive trip home, through more than one country, we arrive back home. It’s then I introduce Luxor to my sanctuary, my cherished Houghton, Michigan sanctuary. The yet to be named female cub is sent off to the Moscow zoo.

It’s a freezing April 2015, and Luxor has now lived in his outside enclosure for two months. Although he loves me to pieces, he much prefers the more than spacious fenced grounds on the side of the mountain. His temporary enclosure now stacked in the barn, he looks majestic. Today, I enjoy my coffee in his enclosure, thankful that I agreed to assist in saving just one more beautiful creature of the planet earth. He and I have bonded, like no other tiger. I have raised seven. They have all been transferred to other permanent sanctuaries that I carefully chose, after much consultation with the biology department at Michigan State. And my trusted and dependable veterinary support doctors have concurred.

June 2017: I am regrettably researching the best sanctuaries in North America, to consider for Luxor. He now weighs in at 300 kg, that’s nearly 700 pounds of tiger. We are closer than ever. In fact, when I take short trips to lecture, my trusty caretaker tells me Luxor mostly refuses to eat, and sits at the top of the hill, on his large throne of a boulder, fixating his eyes in the direction of the entrance road, that leads to my seventy-five acre property. At night, he calls and calls, passing the fence parameter, marking his tracks along the way. When I return, I get the usual slurps, and wet face, from his raspy, delicate tongue. Our trust is remarkable.

Icicles hang off the edge of the rafters, each shining their own special magic glimmer. It’s now December, 28th, 2017. I am alone this beautiful day, having given my support team the week off for the holidays. A forecasted snow storm is moving in our direction like a slow white freight train. I notice Luxor is more active than usual, running and rolling in the snow, as it stacks itself in layers. I think this is the kind of day, I am so thankful to be alive. It’s nearly sunset; gold hues outline the lip of the horizon, as the sun quietly rolls over the adjacent mountaintop. It is feeding time. I drag the bloody road kill doe into the enclosure. I would never have imagined doing this with any of my other tigers, but Luxor and I trust, if nothing else. I am convinced that he appreciates everything I have done for him. We love each other, and that will never change.

I latch shut the tall, hefty steel gate behind me and enter his world. Luxor deliberately swaggers toward me from the side of the hill, now weighed in a foot of heavy snow. He looks so at home, and I am sure he feels the magnetic pull of his homeland today. As I paint a bloody trail up the hill, Luxor bellows, and raises his snout, sniffs the frigid air and continues to walk my way. I release the deer carcass nearby and wait for his charge and hug. Usually, we both end up on the ground, in a wrestling match of wits and power.

We both still, eye each other, about twenty yards in the distance. All of a sudden, I see Luxor charging toward me. And before I can think clearly, I find myself lying on my back, breathless. If the falling snow could make noise, that is all I would hear, but it does not, and the silence is deafening.

The next thing I remember is being dragged up the hill with Luxor’s’ hot breath bellowing the back of my neck. He carries me like a limp kitten, in the mouth of a house cat. I feel a thrum and rumble, deep in his throat, like a savage purr. I imagine a rough game, and he will soon drop me in the snow, and run toward his supper.

At the base of the rock on my back, I feel nothing. It’s then that I realize I am paralyzed, from the neck down. My arms flat against my body. The only sensation of control is my neck. I instinctively forgive Luxor; he does not know his strength.

I say, It’s ok Luxor, it’s ok.

Blackness.

I must have passed out. I hear Luxor crunching the elegant bones of the deer carcass, as they snap like broken twigs. When I regain my senses, I raise my head. I see Luxor pulling the sinews and ligaments from my left knee. Below the knee, I only see my ripped bloody pants where my calf used to be. I black out again.

When I wake again, I am at the top of the colossal boulder, overlooking my property, the valley below, all dimming in shades of darkness. I can scarcely make out the pristine deer carcass, untouched, and its bloody trail. In horror, I stare at my bloodbath twenty feet below, and a blood trail leading to where we both rest. I gradually raise my head. I see Luxor, belly on the snows, licking his paws, sharpening his claws between his teeth. To my dismay, I feel at peace. I view about twenty feet of my steaming intestines, trailing me like a kite tail in the bloody snow, up to the top of the rock. I ask myself, how am I alive? I imagine flailing my arms, in a gesture to stop.

I hear my voice: Please stop Luxor, stop.

I black out for the last time.

When I wake, I am missing my right arm at the shoulder, and Luxor is licking my face, just as he did as a cub. I can smell the stench of fresh meat on his breath; sappy and oily. We continue to bond for a short time in near darkness, then Luxor stands up, takes two steps back, and slips his massive paw into my body cavity. The last thing I see is Luxor, sitting back on his haunches: eating my loving heart.

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