A Man in the Zoo

by David Garnett

The suggestion of this keeper could not have come at a better time, for he saw that though he might not care for a pet he might make a friend. In any case, he reflected, equality of circumstances is an excellent basis for any acquaintanceship, and he could nowhere share the circumstances of an animal’s life so well as he could here in the Zoo. Had he gone into a tropical jungle it would have been no closer, for there, though the animals would have been at home, he would not.

He followed the keeper into the small cat house, and talked with him for a little while longer.

It so happened that one of the beasts directly under the care of this man had attracted Mr. Cromartie when he went into the house before. For in the Caracal he saw an unhappiness to match his own, combined with beauty. The Caracal, poor creature, never stopped moving, holding its face to the bars of its little cage. It moved back and forth with tireless rapidity, and a monotony which seemed inspired by unutterable sorrow.

At his request the keeper now took out the Caracal for him to speak to it.

For several days after this Mr. Cromartie never failed to pay the Caracal a visit every evening, and while making very few overtures to it, he showed the creature that he was more disposed to be friendly than most of its fellow captives. This persistence was not thrown away, for after five or six days the Caracal would stop his sad motions before his bars when Cromartie came in, and would look after him with evident regret when the time came for him to go away.

The keeper, on his side, was mightily pleased at his Caracal’s getting such a companion, and perhaps the more so as it was not his own favourite; in particular the man gave himself all the credit for advising Mr. Cromartie to make a pet of some beast or other. It was not long before he spread the news of it, telling the curator and others of the staff who might be interested.

The upshot of all this was that one evening as Cromartie was sitting reading, locked in for the night, suddenly he heard the door unlocked and beheld the curator come to pay him a visit.

“Oh, I just stepped in, Mr. Cromartie,” said the curator in the most friendly way, “for a word or two. The keeper of the small cats’ house tells me that you have made quite a pet of the Caracal.”

At these words Cromartie turned a little pale, and said to himself: “The fat is in the fire now. He is going to forbid us continuing our friendship; I ought to have expected it.”

The next words the curator said quite undeceived him, for he went on: “Now how would you like, Mr. Cromartie, to have that fellow in your—in with you here, I mean? You need not have him unless you like, of course, and you need not keep him a day longer than you want to. I am not trying to save space, I assure you.”