The Instinct

The Instinct

Image Courtesy – Richard Verbeek on Pexels.com

The feet moved swiftly in the air, a loud sigh and acrobatic swaying of the body landed him straight in front of the Tiger, in an upside-down position; this wasn’t new to him though, as he stared at the beast’s upper palate, and he too stared back with a tilted head and surprised eyes.

With his body supported on his hands, he approached closer, the body or probably the hands smelled of fish, as the tiger unable to comprehend, leaped out his tongue and started licking his shirt, confused on from which part of the body this smell was emanating.

‘I was just fishing buddy, that’s it, I got nothing with me right now,’ he murmured as his legs now arched on the other side, while his face was touching the Tiger’s mustache hair.

‘Let’s do it, kid,’ he muttered softly, asking the animal to now do what they had been practicing all these months.

The tiger swayed by this sudden distraction, however, forgot about the repeated actions he had been performing all these months, preferring to find out where the fish was hiding.

‘Not now buddy, not now,’ he pleaded as the Tiger continued the futile search for the juicy fish; his stretched body though, waited anxiously for the Tiger to perform its part, and let the next performer take over.

‘What’s the matter, why isn’t he moving,’ asked one of the staff members observing the animal and the performer as the crowd clapped even harder expecting something amazing to happen soon.

‘Come on buddy, come on,’ the whispers now turned into nervous pleas as the Tiger remained absorbed in his search for the hidden fish.

‘Shall we do something,’ asked someone backstage, seeing the situation unfold in an unexpected way in front of their eyes.

‘They have been performing so effortlessly during their rehearsals, we thought this would be a cakewalk, but the crazy animal is just not willing to move his ass,’ muttered one of the men wearing a cheap suit and perfume.

‘Let me prod him with a stick,’ suggested the suit-clad man, and quickly brought a long steel rod, to feel the Tiger from behind the huge red curtains.

‘Come on buddy,’ the performer pleaded as his body began to sweat, the nerves on his hand and neck turned thicker, becoming visible even to the audience in the back rows, while the Tiger still continued feeling his sweaty torso and hands.

A sudden poke of the rod, however, brought his action to an abrupt halt as he looked around and instinctively pounced on the stick, which was feeling his tail.

The wild instincts suddenly took over as he let out a loud roar and found himself falling flat on the running body of the man wearing the brown suit and the cheap perfume.

The incisors aimed for the neck as the back staff close by tried shooing him away.  The sudden commotion created a temporary stampede forcing the performer to run behind and see what was happening.

‘Come on buddy, come on,’ the soothing and familiar voice of the old friend, calmed the wild beast, who had been staying with him, since he was a cub, as he quickly turned around and started licking him again; the smell of the fish still staying strong on the workman’s body.

‘Put him back in the jungle,’ the man with the suit shouted, dragging himself behind the large wooden table as he spoke; least he gets pounced on again by the beast.

The Tiger glanced at him once before resuming to play with his master, he probably didn’t know what freedom was, or maybe was still confused on if he really wants to get back in the wild after these three long years with his buddy.