My name is Herr Schmidt. I came from Niederschöna, Germany, to live in Dresden. Niederschöna!?, you ask? Yes, it's a small village on the side of a hill near Freiberg, a former mining town. From my chic fur pattern and city manners, you might think I am a born city tiger, but I'm not. My mother, Kasi, my grandmother, Mietz, and all the other Mietzes from my family line are country tigers, mostly from the Ore Mountains. I am not ashamed. Country tigers are more qualified than city tigers (also known as Stubentiger, "room tigers") in many respects:
-we are stronger
-we are better fighters
-we are better navigators (could city tigers find their way around in a forest full of brown trees that all look the same after only knowing different colored house facades and doors with numbers?)
A drawback of being a country tiger is that, as you may have heard, we are sometimes inbred. This was the case with my uncles, Herr Schmidt I and Garfield. Herr Schmidt I's eyes were small and close together, a clear sign of weakness, and Garfield, well, he was just crazy. (In case you haven't yet heard, Herr Schmidt I was Garfield's brother and suspected father. Grandma Mietz was a wild woman, with a strange taste in tomcats.) He let everyone touch him and hold him, even strangers on the street. He probably was catnapped, or got run over from his many escapades running on the street between cars. Well, that isn't the case with me. I am not inbred, nor is just any old human allowed to stroke my supple fur and enjoy the sound of my sweet purring, and I've already learned how to navigate around moving cars and even German Shepherds and other big, stinky animals. There are lots of big stinky animals here in Dresden.
This is my new place, and it is here that I will write about my adventures as a country tiger living in the city.
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