Tiger, tiger burning bright
In the suburbia of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Did frame thy fuzzy, cuddly symmetry?
Oops! Sorry Mr. William Blake. I’ll be more careful in the next stanza.
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine appetite,
Calvin thinks he can scare them all
Alas, eating fat children raises fears of cholestrol.
Oops, I did it again. Guess this is not the tiger that William Blake wrote about, is it? Absolutely not. Before the more literary ones amongst you charge me with heresy and condemn me to burn on the stake, let me tell you that the tiger here is Bill Watterson’s Hobbes. I want to clarify upfront that the lines above have not been written by Bill Watterson. I take sole responsibility for this trash, which I have tried to pass off as poetic excellence. Although, I can take credit for writing lines which rhyme, can’t I?
I am sure Calvin would have loved Hobbes to be like William Blake’s tiger – with lusty sinews, fiery eyes, mandibles of death and razor sharp claws. Hobbes has always disappointed Calvin on this count. He refused to eat Moe, saying that fat children have cholestrol. He also refused to tear Susie apart and instead let her cuddle and kiss him, much to Calvin’s chagrin. Continue reading