Delightfully comfy, the small tiger plays along the line between alert wakefulness and gentle sleep. Not quite finished with his dreaming, letting his eyes stay closed as at times he can almost see the world around him. For a moment, the whispers of his dreams play at his ears for a moment longer, sharing with him words he wouldn’t remember a minute later. He barely registers these dreams, content to float in this in-between.
His deep, heavy sheets are wrapped over his fur, the room around him with its soft, light walls and painted shapes of things he liked - stars and spaceships and moons that glowed gently when it was dark, but looked no brighter than anything else in the filtered morning light coming in from the mostly-blinded window. Somewhere beyond the pleated face of his quilt and the simple wooden footer of his bed lay a bookshelf full of toys and coloring pages, atop a soft carpet floor he’d laid out his train set on over and over again, more times than he could count, in more ways than he could begin to imagine. In a bin in the corner, a collection of cuddly stuffed animals piles up so high that they must lean against the walls to keep from falling over. Beside them, taped to the wallpaper, rest his simple crayon drawings.
He knew them by heart, drempt of them despite their proximity - pictures of a small orange striped form holding the hand of a taller brown adult with antlers. Hearts adorn each page, along with messy notes pointing to the scribbles. An arrow points to the shorter character, labeling it “Me”, as another label designates the doe as “Momma”. Each drawing shows the two together, posing close or together doing many things, such as the two eating at dinner or hugging. 
The thought of her woke him more, if only to feel his heart race and fill with love and excitement. Thoughts of her roused his body until dreams were in the past, his heavy eyes lifted of their burden as his hands reach up and pull off his sheets, sitting up to yawn and rub his eyes. His now-freed paws wiggle back and forth before him, and he takes a moment to admire his stripes, like ladders climbing up his legs and hips, along his sides and back, and up to his neck and face. His stripes were his favorite part about him, but they were even better whenever Momma would tickle them for him.
The tiger got up, scooting to the side of this bed that felt too big for him, and sliding off onto his paws, letting them meet the comfortable carpet. He looked around, ignoring his unmade bed, and made his way to the door, reaching up a slight bit to turn the handle and pull it open.
His paws went from soft carpet to smooth hardwood, walking down the bedroom hall with its light beige walls and framed pictures, moving from his room to the main room, passing by Momma’s closed door and the bathroom, both of which seemed empty, or at least had their lights off. He looked around, at the couch and TV in the bright living room, to the table and chairs of the dining room, to the pantry and kitchen and even the closet! All he found were coats and an umbrella there, and not a Momma to be found. Shouldn’t she be up already? He felt sad, alone now, already missing her, imagining her warm voice and soft hug…
His stomach growls to inturrupt his thoughts, and the small tiger makes his way to the tile of the kitchen, everything far too tall for him here. Luckilly, Momma always left a stepping stool in front of the sink for him - he dragged it over to the other side of the room, opening the looming pantry door and using the stool to get a better look at his selection. There were so many small bottles and things here, way too much to keep track of, but the tiger found his favorite kind of cereal by the color of the box. His eyes shone and he smiled, already imagining the taste of the fruit-flavored circles and milk.
His hands outstretch, and he raises himself up on the toes of his paws, but he was still so far from the cereal shelf at the top. He hops gently, tail rigid in frustration as he tries everything he can to get just a little bit higher, but the young little feline simply isn’t big enough, even with the height boost of the stepping stool. He begins to feel huffy, cheeks growing red as he sniffles, stomping his paw as he turns and sits on the top step, crossing his arms and trying not to cry. He does cry, though, wishing Momma were here to come and get the box for him, rubbing his eyes in a frustrated mood for a good few minutes, but no Momma comes to console him. He rubs his cheeks mostly dry, feeling a bit better, and gives up on breakfast, putting the stepping stool back and closing the pantry door.
Sulking, he shuffles from the foyer to the carpet of the living room, and plops down on the couch, hopping up so his tush can rest on the comfortable cushions while his legs gently kick. It was here that he noticed a folded paper on the table there, blinking in surprise and leaning in to grab it. The paper wasn’t big, but he recognized what was on it - some words he didn’t know, in the way Momma writes when she’s teaching him. Just this little piece of her makes his heart soar gently, mood immediately better as he tries to understand the words… but in the end, the only really important part was that at the end it said, “Love, Momma”. He felt proud of himself for reading that, and hugged the letter as he made happy little noises, so joyful that she said as much.
The tiger boy sets it down on the table again, looking at it fondly, before pondering what this could all mean. Momma wasn’t home this morning… that meant she must be out. He makes a face - out means school and clothes and things he didn’t like very much. Momma should really be back here with him. But she wasn’t, and that made him sad again. He could only ever get on his socks by himself, so going out to look for her would be against the rules… He just sighed, pouting a bit, knowing he had to wait for her but not liking it at all.
Looking at the glass top of the table, sitting and pondering on the day he had before him. Light shone in from the windows, peeking in through the curtains and sunlight, making the plants dotting the pots and wall scones seem extra green, the flowers feel extra sweet. It played across the glass on the table before him, reflecting onto the wall and ceiling. He followed the light with his eyes, following it from the window to the table to the wall, seeing it land on the large, old clock tick-tocking away against the wall, filling the room with its soft, gentle noise.
...He wasn’t quite sure why, but the clock’s pattern, the way it swung back and forth, the noise it made… It relaxed him. He watched it and watched it, sitting there as it swung, letting his eyes follow it until the light no longer caught the glistening metal, and then some. He wasn’t bored of it, no… He quite enjoyed how it sounded, how it reminded him of how calm adults were, about how they liked slow things like clocks. It wrapped around him like a hug, laid him on the couch, filled his ears with gentle noise and surrounded him with comfort, not unlike his bed. He wasn’t sleepy, but he was still so tired now… His heavy body just feeling more relaxed when he got to lay it down.
The only part of him so strangely immune to the soothing seemed to be that eager bit of himself between his legs… Most mornings it can be like this, especially around Momma, but now it simply seemed to be enjoying the relaxation, pulsing freely between the tiger’s legs. He called it his Throbbie, because that’s what it did best, and Momma seemed to like that name so much she called it that too. Though he felt the urge to touch it, just poke it with his hand, he knew that Momma’s most important rule was not to. She was the only one allowed, because she was so good at it, and knew just how to take care of it for him.
Eventually, even this got boring, so the tiger boy yawned once more and sat up, rubbing his eyes. The room seemed to be a different kind of bright, so maybe he’d been listening to the clock for a while… He hoped he hadn’t missed Momma coming home. A quick peek down the hallway showed that everything was the same, so the little tiger frowned and sat back against the couch again, pouting, looking around.
It only took a minute or two to grab his crayons and a coloring book, laying on the floor of the living room, kicking his paws in the air behind him as he flips through the pages, deep in thought. He found a lovely picture of a baby bear and smiled, taking his blue crayon and rubbing it back and forth over the page wherever the bear’s fur would be. His tongue sticks out while he does this, deep in concentration, until most of the space inside the lines (and some of it out) was a nice speckled blue. For the baby bear’s diaper, he chose green, rubbing again back and forth over every spot, and for his eyes he picked yellow, kind of like the tiger’s own. He took the orange and colored over the yellow eyes, trying to get the colors to mix so they could look more like his, but it didn’t work really well and he got frustrated, putting the crayon down and closing the book.
His head is buried in the carpet, and he makes a bored noise into it, his legs flopping flush to the floor as he lays there. Almost everything in this house was soft and comfortable, he thinks to himself. Probably because it’s Momma’s, and she’s soft and comfortable. But what was he even gonna do without her? He knows he can’t play games or watch TV if she’s not around. He didn’t really want to do anything else, and he tried coloring and eating cereal…
...Momma wouldn’t get too mad if he watch TV, would she? Surely she’d understand that he was just so bored he couldn’t help it. The thought makes him feel guilty, but he doesn’t resist the urge, and climbs up onto the couch again, crawling over to the side-table and grabbing the remote. Sitting back, legs slightly apart and his face smiling wide, the little tiger turns on the TV and watches the image appear from blackness before it.
Immediately, he recognised the show: Miss Jubilee‘s Magic Hour! It’s a lovely, colorful show he liked to watch with Momma, and the main character, a fox named Miss Jubilee, reminded the tiger of Momma a lot. Even just seeing her, smiling in her orange fur and simple white blouse and dark skirt, made him feel better. Made him feel good. She would say such wonderful things that he loved to hear.
“Good morning, children,” she said to him, and to the others like him also watching.
“Good morning, Miss Jubilee,” the tiger said back with a familiar smile.
“I’m glad to see you again. We all remember our breathing excersize, don’t we?” Miss Jubilee asked.
Already, the little tiger’s breath felt heavier, remembering how she’d teach everyone to breathe slow and calm to help them feel good. He did feel goos, breathing slower - he felt less lonely, and more relaxed. The couch felt softer, too, as he smiled and watched.
“Breathe in, and out. We’re all happy to be here.” He did, and felt happy. “Always remember that Miss Jubilee loves you very much, and wants you to feel good and be happy.” He felt warm on the inside, smiling wider, like he could really feel it.
The show went on, like it always did, showing lovely little stories and skits for him, with Miss Jubilee coming on between them to tell him lovely things to hear about how much he’s loved and how good he feels. By the time the show’s almost over, he’s practically sinking into the couch, smiling wide and sleepy as the beautiful form of the show’s host smiles at him, knowing he feels good, knowing about his throbbie, knowing how relaxed he was. 
“It’s about nap time, isn’t it, darlings?” she asks, knowing full well the answer. 
The young tiger didn’t even really feel able to nod, as heavy as he felt. He loved how she smiled at him, loved how the background gently swirled in colors that made him feel soft and safe and comfortable and empty.
“Goodnight, children. Remember, your Mommies and Daddies love you all very much, just like I do.” She blew him a kiss, and he could almost feel it, just like Momma did, right on his twitchy little tip… “Sleep now, sleep~” Her singsong voice flowed through his ears, and his eyes simply became too heavy.
He felt so pleasurably empty now, perfectly blank, not worried about any little thing, breathing slow and careful, the image of that swirling background still boaring through his mind, drowning out anything else. He didn’t so much sleep as was wisked away into color and calm…
…
...Honestly, my life couldn’t be more dull.
I’m a student, on my way back to my campus, to go attend classes I couldn’t care less about, in a degree I don’t want, to appease people I don’t like, so I can be just like everything I hate. Arms crossed, headphones in, bag still looped around my shoulder, I stare at my lap, glad only that I’d finally have some privacy tonight. Family get-togethers felt like such a chore, surrounded with people who wanted to hear about how well I was doing in the things they want me to do, so they could be proud of me for growing up the way they want me to. “Earn my stripes,” like my dad says.
I felt like growing up was overrated. Why in the world should I look forward to being chained to a cubicle, barely making enough to sustain myself, too burnt out to have any energy to put towards the things I enjoy? Why should I be excited about crippling debt, bills, responsibilities, and a rat race where the winners’ sons get a head start?
I scowl, turning up the music in my ears. Everyone wants me to race towards this shit. I’m trying to hold on to what childhood I have left. Can’t they see I don’t want this?
Do they care? Do they just want me as misrible as they are?
Is it so hard to ask for a little unconditional love? A bit of care and sympathy?
Frustrated, I glance up, noticing my surroundings. The subway car is old and the lights flicker when it bounces, and besides a gangly old dog fast asleep on the other side, I could have sworn it was just me here sitting in these plastic seats, watching the tunnels go by outside of the reflective windows.
However, sitting across from me was a doe with flowing antlers. She wore a well maintained red sweater that slipped past her hips and rear, and wore dark black leggings underneath. A purse lay on her lap, and she smiled at me when she saw me look, her cream coffe brown face speckled with white fur, her eyes kind. Her antlers rose above her head in this kind of curling wave, and she was far from thin, though still shapely.
I wasn’t sure what to make of her smile, so I pulled out my e-cig from my hoodie’s front pocket, sucked down the smoke, and blew it out my nose, never dropping my scowl. It was too late at night for the pity of well-dressed strangers. I pull my bag closer, feeling the train slowing down for the next station, but a sudden jolt on the tracks sends my e-cig flying out of my hand.
Grunbling, I pull myself out of my seat and kneel to pick it up, struggling against the deceleration of the train, standing as it slows to a stop to readjust myself. And, as the doors open, I stare at the seat she had once occupied, looking then at the open door closest to me, then again at the seat.
The doe had... vanished.