tiger and bull

I was in my sister’s bedroom in the house where we grew up. I had in my care a small child, probably three years old, whose mother was away. I knew that there was a tiger in the house and that the girl was in great danger. There was no means of leaving the house without passing the tiger and I could hear the tiger prowling around, hunting for the child. I told the child to hide under the bed so she crawled under and I pulled the bedspread edges to the ground to further conceal her. The huge tiger came into the room and, before I could do anything, fished an enormous paw under the bed, pulled out the little girl and sprang away with her in its mouth. I did not know how I was going to tell the absent mother that her child had been eaten by a tiger or what else I could have done to prevent it.

Next, a tiny bull, the size of a large mouse, was running around the room. I caught the bull in one hand, flipped him over and tickled his tummy, his little legs kicking with delight. I let him go and he again ran around the room.