Tiger Tiger, Burning Sight

Thursday 4th February 2010, 9.10am, Bunny Cafe - Chiang Mai

I made a startling discovery yesterday morning, one that if I had not been here in Chiang Mai, and if I had not indulged in some typical tourist behaviour, I never would have unearthed. If you are allergic to cats, you will also be allergic to tigers. This seems like a stupid thing to say doesn't it, both being of the feline family, a sensible person might expect it. It's just that I wonder if anyone has conclusively proved this before? Tigers do not sit on any day to day frame of reference, they do not feature in conjunction with our health concerns, no one ever said 'Well I'm afraid I can't go to Northern Thailand, they have tigers there and those things bring me out in a terrible rash'. I'm confident enough in my own curious assumptions to say that no, nothing has previously been written on tiger related allergies.

My historical experience of cat induced discomfort has been varied, chequered and frustratingly hit-and-miss. A lot of cats have no affect on me whatsoever - I spent a period of time in my teens undertaking work experience at a Veterinary clinic (this was before I realised that I didn't understand science and so abdicated from my dreams of James Herriot country veterinary practice and stuck to subjects I was good at - namely ones requiring erudite vocabulary rather than any actual knowledge) and none of the cats there, many long-haired and matted, bothered my sinuses at all. On the other end of the scale there was the horrendous evening when round a friend's house, happily cosied up on the sofa with her feline companion, Maisy I think her name was - the cat, not the friend - I began to suffer intense irritation and swelling in my eyes. It is no exaggeration to say that on examining myself in the bathroom mirror I found that I bore uncanny resemblance to Quasimodo, as though someone had carelessly placed a tennis ball under my right eyelid; it was so bad I thought that my eyeball was going to give up and fall out under the strain of it. Terrifying. I spent two days dosed up on antihistamines, hidden in the self-imposed darkness and solitude of my bedroom, much like the sheltered Notre Dame hunchback, and sat cursing that damned animal, waiting for my face to realign itself to normal proportions.

Thankfully most of my cat encounters sit somewhere in the middle of these two extremes, closer to the former story. Generally, if I spend time in their company I sneeze a few times, if they scratch me it itches, and occasionally my eyes sting a bit (probably in alarmed remembrance of the day when I nearly lost one of them). Tigers, it seem, have exactly the same affect on me. How do I know this? Well, because I spent a pretty wonderful morning yesterday at Tiger Kingdom sanctuary just outside of town, where for a small fee you can lie cuddled up with them, draped on their backs, wrapped in their paws, kissing their noses, and revelling in the magical nature of the experience. All the tigers there have been bred in captivity and exposed to human contact from birth, making them largely as tame as pussy cats and utterly nonplussed about the people fawning all over them.

Whilst sat hugging a 200lb daddy tiger, the beast, named 'Spicy Sausage', rolled himself over on to his back so that his middle section was positioned heavily across my lap.
"He wants you to rub his belly", the keeper informed me.
"Are you sure?" I asked hesitantly. "Shouldn't I just stay still and pretend I'm not here?"
"No, that's why he's moved like that, he loves it."
"But it's a tiger. I thought belly-rubbing was exclusively a preserve of dogs. And dogs are smaller, much smaller."
"He's bothered to move himself now, he'll get anxious if you don't do it."
Anxious? Making the tiger anything other than blissfully content was the last thing I wanted, and so going against my better judgement, I obediently stretched myself across his huge, soft stomach and tickled away. Sure enough, the keeper was right, and I made another tiger-centred discovery: they can purr. Spicy Sausage was demonstrably grateful for the attention, for when I laid down next to him a moment later he placed a weighty and ominous paw across my shoulder and growled his thanks. "Oh, he likes you" the keeper offered. Yes, I thought, either that or he's had his cake and is about to eat it. Me being the cake.

Evidently though, from my ability to type, I was not savagely attacked or mauled. It was an amazing morning, and laying around dozily snuggled up with tiger cubs will be a memory I hold dear for many, many years to come. My involuntarily and aggravating sneezing fit 10 minutes after I left the sanctuary was a fair price to pay I think, being more surprised at my tiger allergy revelation than I could be annoyed. Who knew?!