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Writer's picturecaughtinthebrambles

Tiger Mum


The tiger was tired. She’d been on the move all day. Took the underground, dropped the kids, grabbed breakfast at the corner shop, went to work… elevator broke – silver button poked: Can anybody hear us? Anyone? We’re stuuuck! Aaaanyyoooooone? Anyone? Finally: doors opened. Climbed up five floors. Wrote, wrote, wrote. Spoke, spoke, spoke. Wrote, wrote, wrote. Lunch. Much too short. Wrote, spoke, wrote, spoke, spoke, wrote, stared out of the window, tea, wrote, wrote, spoke, there’s a bird, wrote, phone, wrote, spoke. (Almost five o’clock. Breathe in, breathe out.) Out. Took the stairs, avoided the crowd, collected the kids, swallowed any doubts, down the underground, out of town. D’you know what Mara done today? Mara and Anju they… and tornados an’ … they took my scissors… I love Chase, he’s the best … Mara, she … and horricanes… she cut … and a huge wave of … Off. Walk the walk, bend your head, close the door, play the game, build the blanket cave with sofa walls. Thirty more minutes. Just. We don’t want to play by ourselves! Nooo. You are the tiger mummy and we are the baby cubs, yeah? The tiger is tired. The hunters are coming! I’m a hunter! Careful now… BOOM. Mum? Mum? Are you sleeping? Muuuuuum! Hm? What do tigers eat? I’m huungry! Hangry. And then there’s the smell of pizza in the air… Stuff, stuff, stuff. Chew, chew, chew. Chew. Swallow. Fly.

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