One day Graham was eaten by a tiger. He didn’t like it inside and knocked politely to see if the tiger would let him out.
“Please stop that,” begged the tiger. “You’re giving me the hurts.”
“If you let me out I’ll buy you an ice cream,” promised Graham.
“You really are a most troublesome dinner,” complained the tiger. “Do you know how many calories there are in an ice cream? I counted them once. It came to more than six.”
“The calories are the best bits. Tell you what, I’ll eat all the calories and you can have the rest.”
“Ice creams aren’t right for tigers. Crocodiles eat sausages; wolves eat grandmas; whales eat Jonahs and tigers eat Grahams. I did that at school. It’s not so bad in there, is it? What if I put in a window so you can see out?”
“It’s very cramped,” protested Graham. “And it smells in here. I bet you eat smokers, I can see an ashtray. And nobody's swept the place in ages. Don’t you tidy yourself up between meals?”
The tiger put his paws over his ears and hummed loudly. He wasn’t accustomed to arguing with his dinner. Once you were eaten you should admit defeat, that was the etiquette, but this one didn’t know when to stop. No table manners at all.
The dinner was knocking again and the tiger felt quite queasy. “What is it this time?” he growled.
“How are you at solving riddles?” asked Graham.
Now the tiger was very proud of his riddling abilities, he was that sort of tiger. At the same time he knew the dangers of hubris, the newspapers said it was much stronger these days than the stuff he used to smoke as a cub, so he was cautious. “So-so,” he said noncommittally.
“I have a riddle. It has fooled some of the world’s finest wildlife. But I don’t suppose you’d be interested in hearing it,” said Graham craftily.
“Tell me if you must,” said the tiger equally craftily.
“No, I don’t think I’ll bother,” said Graham.
“Tell me the bloody riddle!” bellowed the tiger, his patience at an end.
“Alright. What goes on four legs in the morning…”
“I know that one,” said the tiger.
“…six legs at noon…”
“That should be two legs,” grumbled the tiger.
“…and rides a giraffe in the evening?”
“That isn’t right at all,” complained the tiger. “I should know, I made it up.”
“I knew it would be too hard for you,” smirked Graham.
“I’d eat you if I hadn’t already,” growled the tiger. “I suppose you’re not going to tell me the answer unless I let you out?”
“Oh, I know you’d never fall for that,” said Graham. “Anyway, I’m beginning to like it in here. Let’s just forget the whole thing.”
“Damn it, it just isn’t fair,” whined the tiger. “No matter what I do, something bad will happen to me. The tiger never wins. Why don’t you eat me and see how you like it?”
“I couldn’t do that,” said Graham. “I’m not hungry.”
“Oh, please don’t inconvenience yourself on my account,” said the tiger sarcastically. “Well, those are my conditions. I’ll let you out as long as you eat me. Then you’ll see.”
“Oh, go on then,” sighed Graham. “Just when I was beginning to get comfortable.”
So Graham came out and, true to his word, ate the tiger. Of course, he took the precaution of cooking him first.
