House cats are much more diabolic in the long run. We know tigers can kill and kill hard. But housecats... ooooo, housecats lull us into a false sense of suburban security. They stare out their windows, they romp on the sofa, they sprawl out on the floor where the sun is shining through, and they do this day in and day out for years. And then one Summer morn they rub up against your legs for their daily attention and you reach down (thinking what a nice choice you made to get such a low-maintenence pet as a cat) and handle 'em ever so slightly in the wrong way and *poof* ... your dead with full body lacerations yet the autopsy shows cause of death as strangulation from massive hair inhalation. Your eyes remain open and your mouth gapes crookedly, your arms doubled in on themselves in painful contortions as you strove for air.
Tigers will at least let you pray to whatever gods you deem necessary before devouring you. "Domestic" house cats wait in devilish anticipation of that moment of fleeting horror as we are caught with our minds, hearts and bellies exposed. The story is one of trust and betrayal and its legacy of anguish echoes through history.
On an aside to this aside, check out the short story Tooth and Claw by T.C. Boyle.
