Tiger In My Room [portable] May 2026

Outside, the world keeps honking and buzzing. Deadlines, alarms, things I swore I’d fix. But inside, the tiger stretches, and for the first time in months, I close my eyes without planning my escape.

Not a metaphor. Not a dream I’m still shaking off. A real tiger—shoulder-high, amber-eyed, with paws the size of dinner plates resting on my wool rug. Its stripes ripple when it breathes. tiger in my room

I don’t know how it got in. My door was locked. The windows face a fifth-floor drop. But here it is, settled across my unmade bed, tail flicking lazily against the floorboards. My homework is under its left flank. I don’t care. Outside, the world keeps honking and buzzing

Carefully, I sit down beside it. The tiger exhales. The room grows warmer. Not a metaphor

I should be terrified. Maybe I am, but distantly, like hearing thunder from inside a safe house. The tiger yawns. Its tongue curls, pink and rough as a cat’s, and I smell dry grass and warm fur. No blood. No threat.

In the morning, it will be gone. No paw prints. No scratch marks. Just the faint smell of dust and sun, and a single orange hair on my pillow.