At first, he tenses. Stomachs are sensitive, vulnerable places, and only a very foolish predator leaves open his weak points. But after a moment, he relaxes, recognizing that while the two-legs is touching his stomach, he isn’t attempting to harm him. And the further he relaxes, the more he enjoys it.

They smell like food. They remind him of the animals in the forest that he hunts. Taller, bigger, with louder voices and things that aren’t fur or claws, but he isn’t hungry. The obnoxious one fed him earlier. His stomach is full and he’s as content as he can be, all things considered.

His breathing evens out. His ears relax and his tail stills. Slowly, the tiger falls asleep. And should the two-legs lay down with him, he won’t wake and take advantage of the vulnerability. There’s honor in the wild, and as the two-legs pays him the respect not to attack, so too will the tiger.