Wild Tingz - EsSense of Ebony Books

Welcome to the Jungle, Yard Style

Black River — 4:47 PM

Roydel “Boom-Boom” Gibbons wasn’t a man of routine. He didn’t wake up with purpose, or bathe at fixed times, or know when his last covid shot was. What he did know was hustle.

That Tuesday, he was in the bush behind Miss Cherry’s house, cutting through a shortcut he’d dubbed "Judgement Lane." Not for any Biblical reason—just because you had to judge every step. Too much cow dung, mango flies, and thorn bush to trust anything.

In one hand, his cutlass. In the other, a half-burnt spliff he’d been nursing since morning.

He heard the sound before he saw anything.

A rustle. Then a low growl—not big enough to be a dog, not weird enough to be duppy.

He squinted through the tall grass and froze.

There it was.

A small striped creature, half the size of a goat but with paws like boxing gloves and eyes too bright for a local puss. It stared at him with deep suspicion, then sneezed and stumbled forward.

Roydel did what any sensible Jamaican man would do in the presence of the unknown:He cursed.“Bloodcla—wha dat?! A baby lion? Is somebody cat dat? Tiger kitten? Jesus weh yuh deh?!”

The creature whimpered.

Then bit his boot.

Not hard—just a warning. A nibble of dominance.

Roydel blinked.“Yuh aggressive, eeh? But mi like yuh spirit.”

He crouched low, staring back into its golden eyes.“You? Mi a go name yuh Tiggaz. Wid a Z, seen?”

The animal flicked its tail once like it approved. Then sat, like it owned the bush.

Roydel, unsure what the hell he’d just adopted, scooped it up, tucked it under his arm like it was a bad toddler, and marched home.

By the time he reached his yard, two barefoot kids were already screaming:

“UNCLE BOOM-BOOM HAVE A LION!”

Haughton Court, — 5:17 PM

Miles away, Errol Bent was spooning callaloo into a plastic bowl and muttering about the price of escallion when he heard scratching.

It wasn’t dog scratching. It was delicate. Calculated. Sharp.

He creaked open the kitchen door and blinked.

On the other side of his gate sat a spotted creature. Its fur shimmered gold and black like God had taken extra time to paint it. Its eyes were ancient—slit, knowing, almost human.

It stepped forward.

“Shoo!” Errol hissed. “Go ‘way! Mi don’t want no wild ting inna mi kitchen!”

It stepped forward again.

Bold.

Silent.

The animal walked straight past him, entered the house like a rightful heir, leapt up onto the couch, and curled itself into a ball.

Errol stood frozen.

“Yuh is... a new kinda puss?”

He tiptoed closer, observing the creature. Was it dangerous? It didn’t look hostile. It looked... expensive.

Maybe somebody from uptown lost it?

But when he fed it a piece of fried fish and it took it politely—no hissing, no fuss—Errol felt something shift in his chest.

Loneliness, perhaps. Or madness.

He nodded.

“Mi a go call yuh Patches.”

She purred once. Loud. Satisfied.

That Night

In two very different homes across Jamaica, two wild animals slept beside their new owners.

Tiggaz, growling softly in his sleep, wrapped himself in Roydel’s old Bob Marley towel.

Patches, purring like a tractor, stretched across Errol’s floral bedsheets like a queen reclaiming her palace.

Neither man had any idea what they had just invited into their lives.

But chaos was coming.

With teeth.

And claws.

Week One: "Operation Jungle Tingz"

Monday Morning — Nation Side News 92FM, 7:35 AM

The airwaves were wild.

DJ Jook-Jook: “Jamaica, yuh not hearing mi? Two a di animals pon di mystery ship dat dock near Malvern gone clear. One ocelot. One baby tiger. Big up to the people who lock up dem cats and dogs already—cause mi nuh know how yuh explain dis to yuh Pitbull.”

In the ghetto backlands of Seaview Gardens, Boom-Boom (real name Roydel Chambers) was halfway through boiling dumplings on his two-burner gas stove. Shirtless, barefoot, and blasting Alkaline, he turned the volume down as the news cut through the static.

Tiggaz, the size of a medium-sized dog, was gnawing on a mattress spring under the bed. He’d grown fast—too fast. His roar wasn’t quite a roar yet, but it had bass. The kind of bass that made shop dogs bark back.

"Cho, mi cyaan tek di pressure,” Boom-Boom muttered. “Mi find yuh as a fluffy likkle kitten and now look pan yuh—yuh look like yuh could nyam mi landlord."

He looked around the cramped board house. Zinc roof. Curtains acting as bedroom doors. A 'Jesus Saves' calendar from 2019. On the wall, a faded poster of Buju Banton.

A knock at the board gate interrupted his dread.

“Boom! Yo Boom-Boom! Wah dat mi hear a growl up deh so?”

It was his weed man, Scrappa. Nosey. Paranoid.

"Is di blender," Boom-Boom shouted back. "Mi blend up soursop.”

Tiggaz let out a low rumble. Boom-Boom kicked the bed. “Low it, yuh waa mi get extradited?”

Tuesday — Uptown Supermarket

Meanwhile, in a hillside district near Haughton Court, Errol Bent—retired postman and quiet community herbalist—was shopping for tuna and pawpaw for a certain secretive guest.

Back home, his verandah cat wasn’t a cat at all.

Patches the ocelot was nimble, nosy, and now fond of swiping at his blender like a toddler.

Errol was certain now—this animal had no interest in normal cat things. It watched TV. Snuck into the neighbour’s backyard to chase parakeets. Once it even snatched half a jerk chicken off a grill.

“Mi tell yuh,” he whispered to Miss Tisha in the aisle, “rat problem gone since mi get mi cat. But now mi haffi hide mi own food.”

Thursday — Radio Update, 5:45 PM

DJ Jook-Jook: “Alright mi people—update pon Operation Jungle Tingz. Police dem still a search fi two animals loose pon di island. Residents asked to avoid approaching any wild creature dat look expensive, spotted, or like it listen Drake music.”

“Remember—unnu call NEPA. Don’t tek it up pon yuhself. Dat’s how one man in St. Bess end up in hospital after thinking he could ‘discipline’ a parrot wid bad attitude. Is no joke ting, mi tell yuh!”

Saturday — Boom-Boom’s Garrison Yard

It was party night. The neighbour dem buss out rum, Styrofoam cups, and riddims. Tiggaz peeped through the cracked window, curious.

Boom-Boom locked the door.

He’d been trimming the tiger’s nails with an old nail file and feeding him tin mackerel wrapped in fried flour. The tiger now liked dancehall. Would purr during Masicka. Growl during gospel.

Later that night, a cousin accidentally opened the back door and spotted Tiggaz licking his own chest like a flexing Don.

He screamed so loud the domino table turned over.

Boom-Boom ran out shirtless, waving a dish towel.

“Is a exotic pet mi get off mi uncle overseas! Him work fi Royal Caribbean!”

The cousin yelled: “IT HAVE FANGS, BOOM! ROYAL WHO?!?”

Chapter Four – Week Five: “From Jungle to Yaad”

Monday Morning – Nation Side News 92FM, 7:32 AM

DJ Jook-Jook (Live):

“Island people! Wake up and lock up yuh fridge—cause if the news right, is not just goat and mongrel roaming yuh yard anymore. Remember the two ‘Jungle Runnaz’ from that illegal shipment last month? Well guess wha’... they still OUT DEH.”

“NEPA now say dem believe di tiger and di ocelot deh among we. Inna wi community. Possibly living with people!”

“Mi seh Jamaica gone to di beast, mi listeners. And not even metaphorical.”

Sound Effect: Lion roar

Followed by Buju Banton's "Untold Stories" instrumental.

Boom-Boom's Yard, Seaview Gardens – 9:00 AM

Boom-Boom, clad in a fishnet marina and boxers, stared out through rusted louvers at a now-massive Tiggaz sprawled across the broken couch on his verandah. The tiger yawned like a bored rude bwoy, tail swiping at an empty juice box.

The beast was huge now—striped, muscled, unbothered. And bougie.

“Tiggaz, mi nah lie... yuh grow like yuh deh pon Suppligen and KFC meal deal,” Boom-Boom muttered, tiptoeing around the yard with a broom. “Yuh deh inna MY yaad but yuh moving like yuh own mi.”

The neighbourhood had begun whispering. Little boys walked past, gawking. Old Miss Fae next door had told her church WhatsApp group Boom-Boom had "a demon dog from Africa.”

Boom-Boom ducked every knock on the zinc gate. He’d trained Tiggaz to stay silent if he heard a NEPA truck horn—by feeding him mackerel pancakes afterward.

Errol’s House, Haughton Court – Tuesday Morning

Errol Bent, now fully paranoid, installed an iron grill on his front veranda—not to keep people out, but to keep Patches the Ocelot in. The cat had evolved into a full menace: nimble, slippery, with a vengeance streak.

Last week, she’d jumped into a bridal photoshoot, shredded the veil, then vanished like a folklore spirit. The bride said it was a duppy from her man’s past.

Patches now preferred raw egg, opera music, and staring into strangers’ souls.

Errol scrolled TikTok nervously. There she was again: @YaadGyal876 posted a video titled:

“IS THIS A CAT OR A SPIRIT?!!”

Over 240,000 likes. Comments flooded in:

@HoodVetKing: “Mi rate it. Big up di Jungle Pussycat.”

@NuhNormal876: “Mi uncle seh dat is a leopard. Unnu need God.”

@Papi_Clart: “This island not real.”

@BoomTingzTV: “Wait... mi swear mi see dat same tiger a lick ice cream pan Portmore plaza?”

Thursday Evening – Uptown Wine Bar

In a dim wine bar in Barbican, Errol sipped a Merlot, hiding behind sunglasses. He’d told people he was now in mourning—for his freedom.

Across from him, social worker Kym, new to the area, a potential bed away from the puss for the night, raised an eyebrow.

“So wait... you’re telling me you accidentally adopted a borderline wild cat, and now she’s semi-famous online?”

Errol sipped again.

“Miss, I used to deliver mail. Now mi deliver breakfast to one babylonian beast with a TikTok fanbase.”

Saturday Night – Party Gone Wrong

Boom-Boom threw a small birthday bash for himself. Just vibes. Likkle jerk chicken. Magnum. Vybz Kartel from the speakers.

All was well... until one of the guests, high off Campari and riddim, leaned too close to Tiggaz and said:

“Mi bet yuh nuh bad like mi pitbull, yuh oversize Puss-in-Boots!”

Tiggaz growled low. Deep. Like dancehall thunder. Everybody froze.

Two people dropped cups. One woman screamed “MI BREAST IMPLANT SHAKE!”

Boom-Boom ran forward, holding a half-eaten beef patty like a peace offering.

“Tiggaz! Behave yuhself! Not di oxtail crowd and dolly dem, not tonight!”

Tiggaz blinked once. Took the patty. Returned to chill mode.

Sunday Morning – Gleaner Headline

“Exotic Chaos: Jamaica’s Pet Crisis Deepens”

TikTok Stars Spark Controversy, NEPA Overwhelmed by Reports, Public on Edge

Boom-Boom saw the headline and whispered to himself, “Mi need fi smuggle out dis tiger. Or get him sponsorship.”

Chapter Five – “Jungle Justice, Internet Style”

Four Weeks Later – Jamaica.

The country was still buzzing from the coastal animal bust. But nobody could’ve predicted that two random Jamaican men would become viral sensations because they were raising wild animals like pets. The TikTok clips had hit 5 million views each and were getting reposted with captions like:

“Only in Jamaica you can see a tiger a nyam cornflakes.”

“Jungle Book: Inner City Edition.”

“This ocelot got more drip than yuh babyfadda.”

Monday Morning – NEPA Headquarters, Kingston

Inside the NEPA boardroom, Director Bev Mitchell was watching Boom-Boom’s latest upload on mute. It showed Tiggaz laid out on a beach chair, wearing cheap shades and licking condensed milk off a plantain leaf.

She pressed pause.

“So unu telling me... that since the animal seizure, one man deh a Seaview wid a whole tiger like is pet goat? And the other one—him ocelot have IG followers?”

One junior officer piped up.

“Ma’am, it’s worse. Di tiger have brand deals. Di ocelot got reposted by Spice AND Popcaan.”

Another officer added, scrolling through his phone:

“Somebody tag National Geographic and call it ‘Backyard Safari: Ghetto Edition.’”

Auntie Bev exhaled dramatically.

“Mi cyaan manage today. Somebody get mi tea.”

TikTok – 10:42 a.m.

@TiggazTheTiger was now a full-fledged social media star.

The latest video showed Boom-Boom and Tiggaz doing the "Badman Don’t Dance" challenge. Tiggaz pawed at the air like he was bussin’ a blank, while Boom-Boom moved like a leftover backup dancer from Passa Passa days.

Caption: “When di badness natural but you still cuddly. #Tiggaz #TigerTings #WeOutside”

Top comments included:

@CoconutCrush876: “This tiger move like him smoke grabba.”

@WineNBrukOff: “Mi man nah even post me but the tiger get daily updates.”

@CheckDiTail: “Tiggaz more disciplined than mi nephew inna prep school.”

Boom-Boom’s Yard – Seaview Gardens

Boom-Boom had upgraded since the fame. He put up a small tarp gazebo and was charging tourists $100 USD to “feed the tiger.” Tiggaz, now a full diva, only accepted KFC chicken thighs, Oxtail and pineapple soda.

He heard a car horn and looked outside. It was his friend Kemar.

“Yow, Boom, yuh see TVJ this morning? Dem say NEPA launching a wildlife manhunt.”

Boom-Boom looked down at Tiggaz, who was currently licking his paw and watching Love Island UK on the TV.

“Mi tiger nah hide. Him domesticated. Him come een juss like aggressive puppy.”

“Dat puppy could shred a Rottweiler.” Kemar responded.

Boom-Boom chuckled, “Details, details.”

Someweh round so – Errol’s Side

Meanwhile, Errol’s ocelot, Patches, was living bougie. She had a baby stroller, a rhinestone collar that said “Miss Tingz,” and was now sleeping on silk sheets.

Errol had renamed his house "Villa Claw."

He sipped his morning coffee with a dash of scotch and scrolled through DMs.

Errol (reading aloud): “Yow, how yuh get a cat so photogenic?”

“Can she do birthday parties?”

“Is she single?”

Patches blinked at him slowly from across the room.

Errol smirked at Patches then chuckled. “Dem thirsty. Mi cya sell yuh soul, mi baby.”

Patches (yawning): Soft growl

Errol smiled, “Mi know, mi know. Mi a gatekeep yuh greatness.”

NEPA Surveillance Office

Back at NEPA, officers were using all the tech available to them to analyze the animals’ social media.

A Junior officer looked up, “ Maam, we mapped the tiger’s location from the shadows in dis dancehall video. He’s definitely still in Seaview.”

Ms. Mitchell burst out laughing and replied, “Shadows? What y’all think this is—CSI: Jungle?”

She sipped her tea. “Send a field team. Quiet operation. No TikTokers. No drama.”

Boom-Boom’s Lane – 3:00 PM

But it was already too late.

NEPA’s white van was spotted two corners away, and within seconds, someone snitched on Twitter.

@YaadieSnitch: “Dem NEPA ppl deh a head to Seaview. Hope Boom-Boom put dat tiger inna Witness Protection.”

@Badmind876: “Mi seh it from Day 1: man shoulda stick to rabbit. Now look.”

@TiggazStanAccount: “IF NEPA TOUCH ONE STRIPE ON TIGGAZ IS WAR.”

Boom-Boom tried to remain calm, but his neighbour Miss Ivy, who was always outside sweeping the same clean spot, was ready to cause problems.

Miss Ivy (shouting): “Mi seh from di tiger move in, mi dog stop bark. Di vibes change! Mi roses dead! Whole yard smell like zoo.”

Boom-Boom whispered to Tiggaz, who was already halfway up the mango tree, lounging like Scar from The Lion King.

Boom-Boom: “Don’t panic. Dem cya catch greatness.”

Tiggaz: Low growl

Down the lane, kids were livestreaming NEPA’s arrival.

Kid 1: “Yow, dis realer than Netflix.”

Kid 2: “Dem soon drop merch: ‘Free Tiggaz’ shirts.”

Kid 3: “Mi woulda run up inna NEPA van but mi have asthma.”

To Be Continued…

Book Two:

NEPA closes in. Twitter erupts. Boom-Boom and Errol must either give up their animals or go underground. Meanwhile, TikTokers, vloggers, and badmind neighbors keep the pot stirred.