write an autobiography on a tiger
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an still remember those good old times when I used to roam free in my forest home. But . . . now it doesn’t bear thinking about. It makes me cry to recall all those memories. To think of how there just about a thousand of us left in the wild. And how I was captured, tortured, and now . . . . in contrast to everything, they have completely diminished the little pride I had, by imprisoning and putting me on show!
I would assume a king’s attitude, and strut around the forest as if my word was command. Long naps during the day, and work at night. By work, I mean, I have to catch my own food. The plump deer and other animals always look so inviting when my stomach is growling. I used to stalk them, and then by the time they came to know . . . too late for them. I would pounce on my prey, and my hunger would be satisfied.
I, the mighty tiger, born in that grove of dry trees in the Savannah, am now a stock prisoner. I am hardly fed, and I really miss the jungle that I was so fond of. That was the only place that I had ever called home. With that, I have lost my friends, who were what I had ever called family. With them, the sweet memories, which were what I had ever known as happiness. You, and your mankind can enjoy your fortune, but then why can’t I?
How unhappy I am shut up behind the bars of this cage! I have very little space in which to move about. I have enough to eat and am well looked after. Yet I am not at all happy.
I will recall my early life in a Bengal forest. There I roamed happily with my father and mother. My father was the king of the forest. All the other animals feared him. My mother killed game and fed me.
One day a group of hunters shot down and killed my parents. They carried me away with them. They put me in this zoo. At first, I was very unhappy. I missed my mother a lot. Gradually I had to get used to living here.I am now a full grown tiger; I look magnificent in striped coat. If I roar, my keepers run for their lives, what makes me very sad is that I have been deprived of my freedom. Every day crowds of visitors come and stare at me. I hate to be stared at. Some of them even harass me by pushing sticks or rods into my cage. If only I were free, I would have taught them a good lesson. But since I am not, I have to put up with their ill-treatment.. How I wished I could go back to my forest home and enjoy my freedom once again. Nothing could make me happier than that.