Women And Tigers

            Author’s Note: What follows is a work of fiction on the subject of domestic bliss.

So you know that post I did a while back about my wife, the one where she was wearing a mink coat and pretending she was J-LO.

And I was Ben Assflex to her Jennifer Lopez. Well guess what. She got pissed as hell. Let me tell you. She was one pissed-off Puerto Rican princess.

            “Don’t put me out on social media like that. You should have talked to me first.”

            So I say, “Okay princess, had I asked, you would have said no and people would never have learned how wonderful you are. Next time I’ll put you on anti-social media.”

            “You’re an Asshole. That’s Asshole with a capital A.”

            “You knew that when you married me,” I said.

            “Didn’t I ever.”

            As you can tell we have the perfect marriage. She bosses me around. I take it. Look at where she makes me sleep every night. In the garage with all this junk. In the winter, no heat. In the summer, no air conditioning. Tough woman my wife, Brenda, I tell you. Mean as they come.

            Here’s Brenda in the backyard with her pet tiger, Khan. What a name for a pet. It means ruler. Like Brenda, he certainly rules me.

            Khan is a Sumatran tiger from Sunda Island in Indonesia. I wonder if they chained him in a ship like they did when they brought King Kong to America.

Sumatran tigers are on the critically endangered species list. In 20 years, there may not be any Sumatran tigers left. But I got one in my back yard.

            Maybe I could get rid of it at my next yard sale after Brenda goes to work. He’d make a nice throw down rug for someone’s living room. If you take him off my hands, I promise not to call PETA.

Good Housekeeping magazine is very interested in Khan’s relationship with Brenda. They’re sending over a reporter and a photographer to do a feature story on how humans and large cats interact in the home setting.

            When Mike Tyson was in his most manic phase, he kept a pet Tiger at his place. Bet Good Housekeeping never went to his place to do a cover story.

            Brenda is roaring at me again.

            “If you ever, and I mean ever write another post about me, I’m putting you in the backyard with Khan. To Khan you are food.”

            I’m so desperate to get rid of Khan, I’ve even contacted the folks at The Kellogg Company in Battle Creek, Michigan. I’d do anything to have Khan replace their mascot, Tony The Tiger, as the representative of their popular Frosted Flakes line of breakfast cereal.

            I talked to Khan about it. I told him they’ll put his picture on every box of cereal. His picture will be in every supermarket in America and on a shitload of breakfast tables.

Khan just gave me a gigantic, bored yawn when I approached him with the idea. It’s the kind of bored yawn you got as a kid when your parents took you to see the tiger at the zoo.

            But Khan changed his mind after I gave him a 20-pound bag of Frosted Flakes with about 20 gallons of milk. It was the world’s biggest bowl of useless carbohydrates smothered in sugar. And like a kid he loved it.

            Thurl Ravenscroft was one of the original voices behind Tony The Tiger. Ravenscroft passed away in 2005. He became famous for voicing Tony The Tiger. I think we’ve reached a point in our culture where it’s time to have a real big cat voice Tony The Tiger. For one thing it would be a lot more authentic.

            Besides I have a small fortune invested in voice and acting lessons for Khan.

            I even have Khan practicing Tony The Tiger’s famous saying about Frosted Flakes.

            “They’re Grrreat!”

            You can help Khan get the job.  Please send a letter of support to The Kellogg Company. The address is One Kellogg Square, Battle Creek, Michigan 49017. The phone number is (269) 961-2000.

As for my advice, as it pertains to marriage, it boils down to this. Never date a woman who has a tiger for a pet. She could end up your wife. She probably bites harder than the tiger.

            You should see the looks Brenda gets when she takes Khan for a walk down Siegfried and Roy Drive. Most of the folks around here take their dogs for a walk, not their large cats.

            They carry these little plastic bags in case their Cavalier King Charles Spaniel poops on the sidewalk. My wife carries one of those large, thick plastic 45-gallon construction bags when she takes Khan for a walk. She also carries a big shovel. There are some things you don’t pick up with your hands, even if you’re wearing rubber gloves.

            Now that I’ve posted another story about Brenda, she’s locking me in the backyard with Khan.

            “Yawwwwwwn,” says Khan the way a big cat yawns.

            Look at those teeth. Look at those incisors. I wonder if he had braces when he was a kid. Do I crap myself now or later.

            “Rooooaaaarrrrrrrr,” says Khan.

            I think I’ll get ahead of the game and crap myself now.

            “I’ll let you out when you stop writing stories about me.”

            That’s Brenda talking.

            “Yes dear. I promise I’ll stop writing stories about you. Can I come out of Khan’s habitat. He’s giving me that look again. You know that look where he looks at me like I’m his lunch.”

            Having Khan in the house isn’t all bad. We have fewer rats. Fewer roaches too. Fewer scorpions. They’re all scared shitless of him too.

I’m back on the computer writing.

            “Quit wasting time writing those stories on the computer. Make yourself useful. Khan needs a bath.”

            “But honey Khan barely fits in the tub.”

            “You idiot. Wash him out back with the hose.”

            “Last time I did that, he bit me sweetheart.”

            A visit to the emergency room and 1,056 stitches later, I was good as new.

            I lied. Khan and I are good friends. He even walks on my back. I don’t ever have to ask him.  He gives me back scratches when I’m itchy.

Afterwards I have my neighbor, Denie, who’s a nurse, apply firm pressure to my wounds for 30 minutes with a strong poultice made of chopped raw onions to stop the bleeding. Then Denie applies an antibiotic ointment on the wounds after letting them run under cold water for 20 minutes. I know it sounds like a lot to go through for a back-scratch. But like marriage, I’ve learned to tolerate it.

            I gotta get going. Brenda’s calling me.

            “Take the trash out.”

            Here comes Khan. Oh shit. He’s got me in his jaws again. He’s carrying me  to Brenda. I’m covered in tiger drool. Yuck.

            “Nice kitty. Nice.”

            He’s dumping me on the floor next to the kitchen trash can. I better do as Brenda says.