“They’re not pets. They may have been born in zoos,” he says, “but they would still kill you.”

Woodward opens the gate to the tigers’ den and greets Kampala, a three-year-old Bengal with a glossy coat spread over magisterial limbs. He seems friendly enough as he brushes nonchalantly against the bars of his cage, but as I approach for a closer look he flashes his jaws threateningly. Woodward looks amused.