|
|
October 8th, 2003
|
Face-Off:
Save That Tiger! |
Opposing Viewpoints from a Legendary Performer and a Legendary Predator
|
|
Please Don't Kill The Cat By Roy Horn
I know this must have been horrifying for all of you. To see that animal grasp me in his mouth and drag me off the stage, bleeding and screaming, must have filled you with shock and fear. Now you have an understandable desire to prevent it from ever happening again. That is wise. But whatever you do, please don't kill the cat.
The poor animal was only following his instincts. Nature has given him powerful means of attack and defense, and if his instincts tell him to use them, he will do so. He did not act out of anger, or out of any emotion at all. If he reacts violently to us, it is only because we have misunderstood his instincts and not acted properly. It is our fault, not the tiger's.
Our job is to use our human capacity for understanding and compassion to make the tiger something other than what nature has made him. If he had been raised in the wild, and we had been foolish enough to approach him, he would have killed us instantly. But on stage, he is our companion, our friend...our child. If he misbehaves, we must ask ourselves how we can be better parents - not lash out in anger and destroy him.
Montecore, you are a beautiful and majestic creature. I love you and respect you, and I hope your caretakers will now do the same.
 If He Dies, Can I Finish Eating Him? By Montecore, the 400-Pound Tiger That Attacked Roy Horn
I don't hate Roy Horn. I love him. I love him so much, I don't want to give up a single mouthful. If he dies, can I finish eating him?
You can't imagine what it's like to be a natural predator, yet go your whole life without ever once having fresh meat. Sure, they throw me a steak once in a while, but my instincts are to hunt and kill. So you can understand why, in the middle of a performance, my instincts suddenly got the better of me. He just looked so delicious. And he was!
I can understand why you sprayed me with that fire extinguisher to get me to release him from my powerful jaws. You were trying to save him; I can relate to that. I'd do anything to save my cubs, if I had any. And I can understand why, now, you're using all the medical technology at your disposal to keep him alive.
But seriously, if he dies, does it make a difference what happens to his remains? If you could just bring me his body while he's still warm – that's almost as good as eating live prey. I could still experience the succulent taste of fresh meat and feel his blood dripping down my face. I'd be very respectful; I wouldn't waste a scrap.
And just think: in death, he'll provide nourishment to one of the creatures of nature he so dearly loved. I think Roy would have wanted it that way.
Oh, and one more thing: if anybody else calls me Montecore, I'll rip their fucking arms off.
|
|
|
