The tiger got angry at me and bit my head and I said avuncularly, "Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to bite the hand that feeds you?" and it answered, "I didn’t bite your hand. I bit your head," and I lost my temper and shouted, "That’s not the point. You know what I meant," and the tiger said, "There’s no need to raise your voice," and I said, "You bit my head, for God’s sake. You could have killed me. I saw my life flash before my eyes. My ear’s bleeding and my forehead hurts," to which the tiger responded coolly, "You didn’t yell at me for biting you. You yelled at me for interpreting your comment literally when you were trying to convey the sentiment behind the saying and not its superficial meaning. For that I would apologize. However, I believe you must admit that a literal interpretation was not entirely off the mark when our situation so closely resembles the one denoted in the proverb."

This last speech put me over the edge. I had suspected for several months that nurturing and educating an extremely ironic, intelligent, and supercilious tiger had been an imprudent pursuit. Now that my ward had attacked and then disrespected me, the last of my paternal denial had been eliminated. "Okay. That’s it," I said. "It’s off to the zoo with you tomorrow." The tiger could tell by my voice that I was not simply goading him and that my decision was final. He lunged, but I was prepared. I dodged to the side and stuck him with the tranquilizer I held cupped in my hand. With the help of my assistant, I caged him, not without regret and sadness. Then I went into the bathroom to tend to my wounds.