So iconic and blatant is the tiger in its coloring, that to observe one close-up and in the wild is like seeing a cartoon come to life. There's a slight disconnect in the brain, as if this enormous mass of brightly striped orange sinew and muscle and bone has been dropped into the real world from some other reality. Real cats don't look like tigers. They're more subdued in hue, more shaded into their surroundings.
It's only when the tiger moves, when it gets up and walks around, or yawns to display teeth like daggers, that it fully impresses its reality on you, and you're grateful for however much distance exists between the two of you. Because no matter how somnolent and lazy it appears, the quiet, brooding cat is the pawed equivalent of a Remotely Operated Device fully capable at any moment of blowing up in your face. Or taking it off.
