Tiger In My Room ^new^ -

I’ll know it was real.

There’s a 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. tiger in my room

Carefully, I sit down beside it. The tiger exhales. The room grows warmer. I’ll know it was real

It blinks slowly. That’s what cats do when they trust you. My door was locked

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.

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.

I’ll know it was real.

There’s a 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.

Carefully, I sit down beside it. The tiger exhales. The room grows warmer.

It blinks slowly. That’s what cats do when they trust you.

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.

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.