copyright © 2019
by Robert L. Blau
I'm cleaning up in the kitchen after supper. There is an ominous
silence in the den.
"Herman, dear!" I call experimentally. "What's going on in there?"
"Nothing (chomp), dear," he replies. "Not a thing (burp)."
"It's just that it's awful quiet
in there dear," I prod.
"Mmph, hmph," he growls incoherently.
"You haven't devoured the children again, have you, dear?" I ask
sweetly.
"What? The kids? Oh, no. Of course not!"
Herman has many fine qualities. He's an excellent hunter, loving
mate, and a true friend. He just has this tendency to eat his
kids.
"He-e-erman ...," I wheedle gently.
"Hmph. Well. Actually, yes. I'm afraid I have,
Snookums," he admits. "Are you angry?"
"Not so much," I sigh. "It's just that ... do you think that was a wise
thing to do right now? With, you know, the humans shooting at us
and demolishing all our habitat and, well, pretty much screwing up the
entire planet?"
"Yeah, and you know what really frosts my cornflakes?" says Herman.
"They murder us to make up for their own neuroses. Yeah.
They think eating a tiger penis will make up for their sexual
inadequacies. But that stuff's been going on for decades."
"That's true," I admit, "but this younger generation has been really
promising. In, you know, sort of standing up to the humans.
Feistier. Smarter. So, maybe not such a good time to
be eating them."
"I know, babe," he says, "but I couldn't help it. They were talking back to me. To me! And they had ideas. Their own ideas! And they were
different from mine!"
"I think, Herman dear," I
say, "that those are exactly
the characteristics that make the younger generation better equipped to
take on the humans."
"Maybe," he snaps, "but they
aren't supposed to use 'em on me!"
Ah, dear Herman. Will you never learn?