Welcome to the first Charity Sunday of 2026!
I got some good news today. In my inbox I found an e-newsletter from the World Wildlife Fund (now known as the World Wide Fund for Nature outside of the U.S. and Canada). Headlining the newsletter was a link to this incredible video of a mother tiger and her litter of five tiger cubs.
This is more than just entertainment. Tigers usually give birth to only two or three cubs. The size of this litter is testimony to the health of the environment in which they were born. China has been very active in conserving its natural resources; the video was captured by scientists’ camera traps designed to monitor wildlife. Their efforts are paying off.
For more than sixty years, WWF had been working to stop the degradation of the planet's natural environment and to build a future in which humans live in harmony with nature. They’re the largest conservation organization in the world, operating in more than 100 countries. They’re also quite wealthy. One might ask whether my small contribution will make any difference at all. Those of you who frequent my Charity Sunday events will know my answer to that: if each of us gave a little, the total would be substantial.
In any case, I wanted to share the tigers with you. They are enough to cheer anyone up! (So pass the link on to your friends!)
For today’s Charity Sunday, I’ll donate two dollars to WWF for every comment I receive.
Surprisingly, given my ailurophilic tendencies, I don’t have any books featuring tigers. I have written one story which includes a were-jaguar, though. Unfortunately he is the villain! But I thought I’d share part of the apocalyptic conclusion of my Mayan-themed paranormal romance Serpent’s Kiss with you anyway!
Excerpt
“So,” the old woman murmured, “it has come at last. In my lifetime. The end of the great cycle.”
“Yes.” A terrible fear swept like storm through Elena’s heart. “He is there now, at the summit of the volcano, struggling against the one who would destroy us all.”
The priestess was still for a moment, looking inward. “You must go to him, then. Now.”
“But how? He took his feather away from me.”
The crone laughed. “You need no power object. I told you, you have his soul. Picture him clearly. Reach for him with your mind.”
Panic rose like bile in Elena’s throat. “I tried…”
“Calm yourself, child. Call him with your faith, not your fear. Imagine him as you love him, not in the midst of a deadly struggle, but full of strength and power.” The old woman took Elena’s hand in both her own. Her skin was soft as the petals of a flower.
The touch soothed Elena’s shaking, slowed her hurtling heartbeat.
“Breathe,” murmured the shaman. “Breathe deeply, and reach for what you desire.”
Elena closed her eyes. An image took shape behind her lids—Jorge, nude, magnificent, calling down the rains the night of the fire. She remembered the jet locks tumbling over his powerful shoulders, the ripeness of his mouth as he sang his entreaties to his gods. In her mind, she knelt before him, reaching out, eager to caress his firm, smooth body.
The ground lurched under her feet, throwing her down on all fours. A deafening roar welled up from the earth. Thunder answered. Lightning shot through the cloudbank, painting the grey walls a lurid white before plunging everything into blackness. I’m too late, Elena thought, her body tossed about like a rag doll by the unsteady ground. It’s already the end.
Her knees and palms stung, lacerated by the coarse surface beneath her. She opened her eyes. A cloud of sparks exploded into the night sky. Hot ash rained down on her bare arms. The earth shook itself and bellowed like a wounded beast. Red and yellow tongues flared up, hissing, silhouetting the black edge of a ridge in front of her. The air reeked of sulphur.
Volcán de Fuego. She had made it.
She tried to stand, but the frenzied earth kept casting her down. She finally had to crawl to the lip of the crater, ignoring the sharp pumice that abraded her skin. An explosion tore at her eardrums. Flames snapped above her head. New sparks pelted down. Burning embers landed in her hair, but were smothered by her thick mane. Blisters rose on her skin.
Warily, she peered over the edge into the broad, shallow bowl of the caldera.
This depression, perhaps fifty meters across, was the remnant of an old eruption that had blown off the top of the mountain. At its center, a cinder cone belched sparks and flame from the active vent. Clouds of steam and ash swirled above the basin, stained a dirty orange by the seething fires below. The sulphurous stink clung to her nostrils.
The concave space was paved with grey pumice and black ash, interrupted by basalt boulders meters high that had been ejected in past ages. It reminded Elena of a Roman amphitheatre. Within its confines, gladiators fought to the death.
They wore their beast forms. The enormous jaguar, orange as the volcanic flames, circled the winged snake. Quetzlcoatl hovered above the ground, his wing-beats sending sparks circling around them. The were-cat’s roar of challenge echoed across the basin; the earth growled in answer. He lashed out at the serpent with a vicious paw. Even from her distant vantage point, Elena saw the claws flash.
Jorge darted out of the way. The cat’s talons sliced through smoky air. Remorros roared again, this time in frustration. Meanwhile, Jorge drew back his massive head, then struck like lightning. The jaguar tried to evade the strike, but the snake’s fangs raked a pair of deep grooves across his flank. Blood gathered in an opaque pool on the glittering black sand.
Remorros backed away, not taking his eyes off his opponent. Jorge stilled his wings and settled to the ground, awaiting the next assault. The cat limped slightly. He bent to lick at his wounds. Suddenly, he gathered himself into a crouch and launched himself into the air, toward his opponent. His jaws closed on the serpent’s throat.
Elena struggled desperately not to cry out. She knew that distracting Jorge now could be fatal. The snake did not seem badly hurt, however, perhaps due to his scaly armour. He unfolded one of his bird-limbs and ripped into the jaguar’s belly with a dagger-like talon.
Remorros bellowed in agony. Jorge shook him off and whirled away to a safer distance. His wings beat slowly as he watched his antagonist. Elena did not see any wound, but it seemed from Jorge’s tentative movements that he too was in pain.
The jaguar lay on its side, panting. Had Jorge won?As she watched, hardly daring to hope, the cat-form blurred and shrank. The naked body of Teodoro Remorros stretched out on the floor of the caldera, a gaping hole in his abdomen.
He can’t possibly survive such an injury, thought Elena, rising to her knees in order to get a better view. This must be the end. But even as she watched, the man pushed himself to a sitting position, then to a hunched stand. He placed his hands over the terrible wound. Elena could see the blood seeping between his fingers. Then he began to chant in some alien tongue.
The volcano rumbled and belched cinders. The flow of blood slowed, then stopped. Remorros stood tall. He took his hands away from his belly. The wound was gone.
Remorros’ laugh rang out in the sulphurous air. “Kulkulcan! See my power! My god-flesh is indestructible. You cannot defeat me.”
Jorge still wore his serpent-form. As she watched, though, the towering column of scales and feathers began to whirl, coiling faster than the eye could follow. The wings faded into mist that swirled away. The green blur slowed and dwindled. Jorge’s tawny, muscled form emerged, apparently unscathed.
His long hair streamed behind him, carried by the hot winds from the vent. His eyes reflected the volcano’s fire. He held aloft the gleaming black sword. “Tezcatlipoca! You always were a braggart. Come meet your fate.”
Please don’t forget to leave a comment! We need a world with more healthy tigers—and other creatures, including human beings.
