lot, and there are a lot of people around, you smack him anyway.”
The act climaxes with a heart-stopping shoulder stand. Khris calls Fatima from her pedestal into the center of the ring. Standing slightly hunched over the full-sized tabby and holding a piece of raw horsemeat in each of his hands, Khris shouts, “Up, Fatima! Up!” and braces himself for the tiger’s four-hundred-twenty-five pounds as she plops her front paws on his narrow shoulders just inches from his face.
“In truth, it’s a bit overwhelming to have this thing in your face. I’m five feet six; she’s probably close to seven and a half feet. Her breath smells like a dog’s. I give her meat from the right hand, then the left. Then what I’ll do is put my hands on her paws and she gives me a kiss.”
“A kiss?” I said. “What does that entail?”
“A kiss is a kiss. She puts her lips on mine, though tigers don’t actually have lips.”
“So what does she think she’s doing?” I said.
“I have no idea. She just did it one day, and I thought, ‘This is pretty cool, I’ll do it again.’”
“Do you actually go so far as to pucker up?”
“Yes. It feels like I’m kissing a mustache. Her mouth is bigger than mine, and sometimes she’ll lift her lip and slip me some tongue.”
“Some tongue?” I said, thankful for not having to ask that question.
“Some tongue,” he repeated with a wink of his eye.
At this point in the routine Khris sends Fatima back to her cage. Tobruk, Barisal, Simba, and Zeus are already in their home cages. Khris is nearing the finale of the act. He warms to the audience. He seems, for the first time, to be enjoying himself.
“There are two types of people in the world,” he said, “those who don’t mind stepping into the ring with nine tigers and those who do. I’m an Aries. I don’t mind taking risks. I recently read that Aries men are casual types who like to feel comfortable and secure at home, but like competition in the rest of their lives. That’s me. When I’m gone and through with the act, not very many people will remember Khris Allen as a cat trainer or cat performer, but I see myself as playing a little part in history. I’ve always been like that. On my volleyball team in college, on my baseball team in high school, I always wanted to be the one who made the play. Here I’m making the play every day.”
Khris ends his act with a jumping display—no fire, no hoops, just the cats on their own. He calls down two tigers from their pedestals and has them stand side by side in the middle of the ring. Next he beckons Orissa, the fierce snow white, who slowly cases the two upright tigers, then on command from Khris boldly leapfrogs over their backs, back and forth in near slow motion, to the applause of the audience, the cymbal crash of the drummer, and the eventual reward of a piece of horsemeat, personally delivered by the trainer himself at the end of an aluminum ski pole. The act is nearly over. Orissa is sent home. As the remaining cats follow, Khris climbs on the back of Tito, his anchor cat, and rides his majestic shoulders to the mouth of the cage line.
“ Ladies and gentlemen …,” Jimmy James calls, “ from Atlanta, Georgia,…American zoologist Khris Alllllen .”
Khris skips to the middle of the ring and accepts the applause with a quick bow and a wave. Some people, he knows, are delighted with his performance, others are probably disappointed, a few maybe even upset.
“Let’s face it, forty-five percent of the people are saying, ‘Oh my God, look how beautiful those cats are,’ another forty-five percent are saying, ‘I wish he had gotten his ass chewed up.’ The other ten percent are probably saying, ‘Oh, those poor cats.’ I try to focus on the positive. Sometimes there will be a very enthusiastic person who really enjoyed the show. When I leave, I’ll walk up to that person and shake their hand, because they were appreciative and because they’ll
The act climaxes with a heart-stopping shoulder stand. Khris calls Fatima from her pedestal into the center of the ring. Standing slightly hunched over the full-sized tabby and holding a piece of raw horsemeat in each of his hands, Khris shouts, “Up, Fatima! Up!” and braces himself for the tiger’s four-hundred-twenty-five pounds as she plops her front paws on his narrow shoulders just inches from his face.
“In truth, it’s a bit overwhelming to have this thing in your face. I’m five feet six; she’s probably close to seven and a half feet. Her breath smells like a dog’s. I give her meat from the right hand, then the left. Then what I’ll do is put my hands on her paws and she gives me a kiss.”
“A kiss?” I said. “What does that entail?”
“A kiss is a kiss. She puts her lips on mine, though tigers don’t actually have lips.”
“So what does she think she’s doing?” I said.
“I have no idea. She just did it one day, and I thought, ‘This is pretty cool, I’ll do it again.’”
“Do you actually go so far as to pucker up?”
“Yes. It feels like I’m kissing a mustache. Her mouth is bigger than mine, and sometimes she’ll lift her lip and slip me some tongue.”
“Some tongue?” I said, thankful for not having to ask that question.
“Some tongue,” he repeated with a wink of his eye.
At this point in the routine Khris sends Fatima back to her cage. Tobruk, Barisal, Simba, and Zeus are already in their home cages. Khris is nearing the finale of the act. He warms to the audience. He seems, for the first time, to be enjoying himself.
“There are two types of people in the world,” he said, “those who don’t mind stepping into the ring with nine tigers and those who do. I’m an Aries. I don’t mind taking risks. I recently read that Aries men are casual types who like to feel comfortable and secure at home, but like competition in the rest of their lives. That’s me. When I’m gone and through with the act, not very many people will remember Khris Allen as a cat trainer or cat performer, but I see myself as playing a little part in history. I’ve always been like that. On my volleyball team in college, on my baseball team in high school, I always wanted to be the one who made the play. Here I’m making the play every day.”
Khris ends his act with a jumping display—no fire, no hoops, just the cats on their own. He calls down two tigers from their pedestals and has them stand side by side in the middle of the ring. Next he beckons Orissa, the fierce snow white, who slowly cases the two upright tigers, then on command from Khris boldly leapfrogs over their backs, back and forth in near slow motion, to the applause of the audience, the cymbal crash of the drummer, and the eventual reward of a piece of horsemeat, personally delivered by the trainer himself at the end of an aluminum ski pole. The act is nearly over. Orissa is sent home. As the remaining cats follow, Khris climbs on the back of Tito, his anchor cat, and rides his majestic shoulders to the mouth of the cage line.
“ Ladies and gentlemen …,” Jimmy James calls, “ from Atlanta, Georgia,…American zoologist Khris Alllllen .”
Khris skips to the middle of the ring and accepts the applause with a quick bow and a wave. Some people, he knows, are delighted with his performance, others are probably disappointed, a few maybe even upset.
“Let’s face it, forty-five percent of the people are saying, ‘Oh my God, look how beautiful those cats are,’ another forty-five percent are saying, ‘I wish he had gotten his ass chewed up.’ The other ten percent are probably saying, ‘Oh, those poor cats.’ I try to focus on the positive. Sometimes there will be a very enthusiastic person who really enjoyed the show. When I leave, I’ll walk up to that person and shake their hand, because they were appreciative and because they’ll
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