"Mornin', Jeb.  How ya doin' today?"
    "Can't complain, Clem.  You?"
    "Oh, same as always."
    "Nice of you to drop by.  Can I get you some coffee?"
    "Sure.  Don't mind if I do."
    "So, what brings you by this fine mornin', Clem?"
    Clem glanced out at the front yard and cleared his throat nervously.
    "You're not worried about ol' Bubba, are you?" asked Jeb.  "He's gentle as a pussycat.  Don't pay him no mind."
    "Ah, yes, Bubba," Clem continued, finding his voice.  "I've been talkin' with some of the neighbors, and they, uh, asked me to talk to you about Bubba."
    "Well, that was mighty thoughtful.  Bubba's in fine health.  Amazin' how fast he's adjusted to his new home.  And he's real low maintenance.  Hardly costs anythin' to feed."
    "Ah, that's just it.  Exactly what do you feed Bubba?"
    "Oh, nothin' special.  He just kind of shifts for himself."
    "Hmm."  Clem hesitated a moment.  "Some folks have been complainin' about missin' goats and cattle."
    Jeb nodded sympathetically.  "Doggone coyotes!  The hills are full of 'em."
    "Uh, they don't think it's coyotes, Jeb.  They think it's Bubba."
    "You don't say!"  Jeb was aghast.  "Now, where would they get an idea like that?"
    "Well, when you keep a full-grown Bengal tiger in your front yard, and livestock starts disappearin', people are bound to talk."
    "Now, just hang on a minute there," said Jeb patiently.  "Bubba brings in a lot of payin' tourists.  I can understand how people might suspect ol' Bubba, but that's just a theory.  The way I see it, income beats theories any day.  Now, livestock's been disappearin' in these parts for years.  For as long as people have been keepin' livestock, in fact.  There're lots of reasons for it.  Coyotes, mountain lions, rustlin', disease, old age.  You name it.  Those coyotes are mighty clever, you know."
    "A coyote can't take down a full-grown cow."
    "I don't know.  They're pretty tricky."
    "Joe Peters saw Bubba kill one of his goats.  He isn't the only one.  I've heard several eyewitness accounts."
    "Anecdotal evidence!" huffed Jeb.  "Hearsay!  Where's the proof?"
    "Now that you ask," Clem replied, "I just happen to have this video Meg Murphy shot of Bubba chasin' down a cow."
    "Video shmideo!" scoffed Jeb.  "Don't you know how easy it is to fake those things?  Remember that video of aliens abductin' people?"
    "Look, I think there's enough evidence here for us to insist that you get rid of that tiger.  Sell him to a zoo, for Pete's sake!"
    "Evidence?" Jeb gasped incredulously.  "You call that evidence?  A bunch of stories and an unverifiable videotape?  I need scientific proof before I do anythin' different than what I'm doin'!"
    "Well, what's that that Bubba's eatin' right now?"
    "Breakfast," I'd say.
    "Breakfast has horns."
    "Probably a deer."
    "Never saw a deer with horns like that," Clem pointed out.  "That's a cow."
    "Now that you mention it," said Jeb thoughtfully, "I did see a cow stumblin' around here earlier this mornin'.  Looked mighty sick.  Hey, I'll bet that cow just staggered into my yard, collapsed, and died right there!  If my Bubba gets Mad Cow Disease, I'm gonna sue!"
    Clem shook his head.  "Jeb, this is obvious to everybody but you.  Why are you bein' such a horse's rear end?"
    "I'm bein' a horse's rear end?" spat Jeb.  "Who came in here with all the unsubstantiated theories?"
    "You've got that beast runnin' loose in the yard.  Doesn't it even scare you that some day he's gonna mistake you for a beef steak?"
    Jeb looked at Clem without comprehension.  "You don't understand," he said.  "He's profitable."

About the tiger in our own front yard, see, for example, The Union of Concerned Scientists on Global Warming  or Greenpeace on Global Warming.