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"Please don't look into Wally's mouth when he yawns," you read from the sign. "He's on a diet."

You grin. The zoo staff has a sense of humor. This, the warning signs around the anteater pen complete with red circle and bar "no tongue" posters, and the "Do not annoy the animals or you will feed them" placards everywhere. It's been a laugh since the first animal enclosure.

"Panthera Onca," you read from the plaque mounted on the fence around the jaguar pen. "The jaguar, native to South and Central America, once native to the Southern U.S. states, blah blah blah..."

Below you in the pen the spotty cat rolls over to expose his belly. He's a stocky, muscular thing you might easily mistake for a leopard. The spots are different, arranged in broken "rosette" rings and he's bigger, chunkier than a leopard. You lean over the rail. Just as advertised, Wally is a yawner.

Man, look at that gape. A carpet of raspy tongue rolls out past two-inch canine fangs as the jaguar yawns a jaw-cracking yawn. Strings of saliva stretch and snap between upper and lower jaw and folds of pink flesh at the back of his maw frame the purple tunnel of gullet. It's almost hypnotic. Wally snaps his maw shut with a steely clash of fangs and sits up, stretching.

He's such a beautiful cat. Sitting up, he's closer to you and as his eyes squinch up you realize he's about to yawn again. You get your phone ready to snap a picture and lean as far as you can over the railing to get a good shot.

Wally grins, yawns even wider than before, and suddenly the yawn gets a lot closer. It is only as his jaws close around your face that you realize what happened. The jaguar waited for you to lean far over the rail then sprang upward.

Sharp curved canines lock behind your ears as your whole head disappears into Wally's maw. Both of your hands are in front of you holding your phone and are brushed out of the way as he clamps down, and suddenly two hundred pounds of spotted cat is dropping back into the pen and dragging you along. Your cell phone goes flying but you have bigger concerns.

Reflexively you grab at the cat, trying to keep your neck from being broken by its weight as it pulls you over the rail. There's no time to grab the railing and save yourself. You're going to land right on top of a jaguar and who knows how that will end.

It ends very badly. Through his partly open jaws you see Wally's hindpaws hit the ground, followed by his forepaws, but he keeps his muzzle straight up toward you and in the instant before your weight slams into him his maw snaps wide open. There is a flash of purple and a wet thump as you go face first down a jaguar's throat.

Only the softness of the surrounding flesh keeps your neck in one piece. All your weight comes down atop Wally's wide-open maw and drives you into the waiting gullet. There is a wet slap and sudden slither of flesh all around you and the next thing you know you're surrounding by slimy darkness. Surprised to still be alive, you wince as sharp fangs dig into your hips. Your fall drove you into the jaguar's maw and your head is already in the sloshing, deeply inhospitable folds of Wally's stomach.

With your arms pinned firmly to your sides by the stretched flesh of a big cat's gullet all you can do is kick. Wally takes a wheezing, full-throated breath, and for a moment you think it was all an accident. Just a playful prank that went horribly wrong. Any second now he'll gag and retch you back up.

But he doesn't. Wally gasps in a labored breath, tenses, and heaves himself upward. His forepaws leave the ground as he thrusts his maw upward and just like that your butt is gone into his gullet. You don't need the followup to tell you what he's doing but you get it anyway. Wally drops back onto all fours, tenses once more, and swallows with all his might. Sharp teeth scrape their way over your knees but you have much more pressing matters to worry about. Namely that it looks like Wally planned from the start to swallow you whole and is perfectly capable of doing it.

The jaguar's ribs creak and pop as your shoulders and then the rest of your torso squeeze past into the sloshing void of his stomach. There's nothing left of you outside now but a set of knees and your kicking feet. It takes him two more gulps to get those into his mouth and only then does he pause, batting at your shoes with one forepaw. Claws come out and you wince as a sharp hooked tip scrapes your ankle, catches in the fabric of your sneaker and pulls it off your foot. The second swiftly follows, and one sock comes off too, caught on a claw. With a last snap of his jaws one socked foot and one naked one squelch into the softness of his salivating tongue.

You liked the look of that raspy tongue earlier. You like it a lot less as fangs close around your toes. The tongue bunches up beneath your insteps and you finally try to fight. You tense up, trying to keep your legs as stiff as possible so he can't swallow them.

What good that might do you don't know. You are to the waist in the sloshing heat of a jaguar's stomach and his gastric juices sting wherever they touch. Maybe you can choke him, get him to throw you back up. It's worth a try.

The spotty cat tenses for the last gulp and you do your very best to be a rigid, un-swallowable object. Its a good idea. It doesn't work. Wally's throat squeezes down and you shift in his stomach and throat. Everything is coated with a thick layer of lubricating slime including you and its impossible to brace yourself against his swallowing muscles. Wally gulps and as his throat grips down something that to give. That something is you and you slither heavily into the jaguar's waiting stomach.

Wally groans as his belly swells huge and lumpy. The vast bulge unbalances him and he rolls on his side, hooking padded forepaws around the bulge. The inner folds of his stomach flatten out and stretch tight as almost his weight in man bulges out his belly fur. From the outside the bulge must be obscenely huge and you can feel how thinly the muscle and fur is stretched to accommodate the whole human in his stomach. Unfortunately for you, however thinly it's stretched, it's still strong enough to squeeze you into a tight little ball.

Wally grumbles deep in his throat and grips down with his forepaws as you try to struggle. Maybe if you make him uncomfortable enough he'll barf you back up, assuming it's even possible to unfold you from your fetal curl and get you started back up his gullet.

You squirm and kick, discovering that it's almost impossible to get any leverage when you're squeezed by slimy, inward-pressing stomach walls. The slippery walls of his gut offer no purchase and his forepaws hook over the lumpy bulge in his belly fur, helping hold you still.

There's nothing to grab, just smooth slick flesh all around you. The jaguar's body creaks and groans internally, somehow getting used to such an enormous lump of prey swallowed in one bite. Hot flesh presses in from all sides, the jaguar's pulse drums through you, and very quickly you realize that one of two things is going to happen now. Either someone shows up to help you, or you're jaguar chow.

Wally grunts irritably as you squirm, and presses down with his paws to hold you still. The pressure of his paws squeezes the stomach walls in tight and even from inside him you hear the long belch as most of the air he swallowed with his meal departs back the way it came. Acid comes trickling in to replace the air and you redouble your efforts to escape. This just causes him to squeeze his belly that much harder, forcing out another burp. You're annoying him, but that's all, and unless something changes before you run out of air you won't be getting out of this jaguar's stomach the way you got in.

Maybe he'll cough up your clothes later, or some smaller bits like the one sock he swallowed will make their way through his digestive tract intact, but the growing burn of stomach acid tells you that you won't be so lucky. You're made mostly of meat, after all, and guess what jaguars evolved to live on?

As you struggle in the hot, slimy pocket of the big cat's gut you hear a muffled shout. Someone has arrived at the railing where you stood not five minutes before. The grotesque bulge in the jaguar's middle can only be one thing, particularly as every time you squirm and kick it changes shape.

Wally grumbles irritably, wanting nothing more than to settle down and digest his meal. Pretty soon now you'll use the last few sips of air still trapped in here with you and he'll be able to do just that.

It comes back to you that mixed in with what you thought were humorous signs, you saw others posted around the zoo. "It is the policy of the zoo to not endanger its animals unless a human life is at risk -and- it is certain we can save them. This means that if you get yourself in trouble, you may have to find your own way out."

As you squirm, irritating Wally less as your struggle grows weaker, you think about what that means. If they aren't sure they can save you, and the attempt might hurt the animal, they won't try. By the time they got the zoo vet you'll have suffocated. At that point they'll just let him have his meal. No need to traumatize the jaguar when all they'd get out of it is a slimy, acid-singed and very dead man.

Attacking Wally to get him to cough you up might hurt you as much as it does the jaguar. Any attempt to get him to cough you up by other means would take too long. There just isn't time to save you without endangering you in the process. The sneaky jaguar probably knows that from experience. The second he got you to lean over the railing, he knew the encounter would end with a burp.

No wonder the staffers are just shooting the breeze over there. They're probably filling out the paperwork.

You got yourself into this. You'll have to find your own way out, and it's looking more and more like the only escape from the jaguar's stomach will involve experiencing the rest of his digestive tract too. That sign was by the railing for a reason. You most likely aren't the first to admire his maw and end up with a much closer view of it than expected.

You hear the two staffers, and now it sounds like a third, discussing the affair. The walls of the jaguar's stomach muffle the words, but you can tell they're pretty annoyed about the whole thing. You just messed up Wally's diet.

You can feel the layer of fat between his muscle and fur. It's maybe as thick as the width of your finger. It's about to get thicker.

You use up your last few precious sips of air and put everything into a final struggle, hoping it will motivate the observers into helping you before it's too late. Wally grumbles irritably, burps one last time, and lays down his head. All you managed to do was tire him out with your struggles. That'd be fine if you were trying to outrun him. Not so much when all he need do is take a nap as his stomach goes to work.

As your consciousness fades, you hold onto one last crumb of hope. They can't really just leave you in here, can they? They can't just leave you in Wally's stomach to be cat food.

But they can. And they do.