Yet another of my wild cat poems. The inspiration for this one is no more mystical or mysterious than the fact that the Siberian Tiger’s natural habitat is homophonous with his name. It also reflects my pessimistic belief that pretty much all of what have been termed the “charismatic megavertebrates” are doomed.

I have often pondered the question of whether or not I’ll be alive on the day that the last wild tiger dies, or for that matter, any of the other keystone predators. I’ve always believed that such a day will also be the beginning of the death knell for our own species, as this is the only Earth we have. Call me stupid and sentimental all you want, (or if you’re the particular Fundamentalist former neighbour I was forced to live next to for five years, feel free to spout scripture about: “Love not the world and the things in it”, and assure that I needn’t worry about such things, because, after all, we’re in the End Times®); however the poem is what it is.