like a cigarette for the rapture while you casually inhale--a temporary satisfaction completely in your control; to be out of control leads to wild and unimaginable delight, none of which i would trade for more standard fare. what care i if the keeper makes infrequent visits to my cage out of obligation or tenderness, for i will gorge on her raw, bloody meat, passed through the bars and not bare my Sabre fangs even if she holds in her hand the meat of my dinner-dreams: fantastic savanna, i once roamed without compare.
i have even gotten her to believe she may rub my striped snout, with her brave eyes showing tenderness, which hide the fear which i smell above even the fresh meat...and although i wish to take the steak and the hand back into my cool chamber and gorge , it is only for the next visit that i don't.
why, i even think she thinks i am a tame house cat.