A Day in a Lion's Life (a POV)

Savanna’s getting too damn hot. Lions like me are having a rough time. I should lose weight as it's getting harder than ever to carry those antelope up the tree.

And these flies! I don't want to get in a bad mood but where the heck is the wind? My tail hurts since Zoopie, the baboon bit it. It used to work well against the flies on my back. 

I think I got a tooth abscess; more to contend with. Last time it took three weeks to go away and I had to eat snails and fruits all of that time. 

It's not easy. Now l got Putters coming around sniffing and courting my femmes. Seriously? 

Skinny, ugly-ass youngster trying to challenge me!

What has this world come to?

It's too hot to fight anyway. 

Mombatu, our caretaker is bringing some idiotic tourists for selfies with me. He's coming in this direction. Putters is no contest when it comes to posing like a champ. Besides, the Japanese always preferred me. It's definitely a plus to have a good reputation for being not only friendly but extremely photogenic. Side by side with the other lions in the pride—well, take it from me—they all look like they belong in Urgent Care.

I'm glad they're coming for pictures. Maybe l get showered with treats. My favorites are pig ears. The Japanese have suitcases packed with them. 

But it's so hot, l wish they'd hurry up. Big growl to keep ‘em coming.

Ugh! The smarmy elephants got wind of the tourists and here they come, stomping and whining and dumping—begging, as usual, with their stupid trunks doing the same old tricks they've done since the Mammoths went extinct. 

But the humans fall for it. Everytime. 

What are you gonna do? Life is tough on the savanna. 

The smart monkeys devised a clever plan, so they get everything they want. They're always one step ahead of the rest of us. That's because they don't have the lazy gene. 

It's not our fault, these genetic traits. 

But these apes really got it together. Since they've stopped their tribal wars, they're prospering day by day. 

Before we know it, they'll have a kiosk selling refreshments to anyone who can pay and they'll be taking take Bitcoin too. 

Some are so slick they steal Rayban sunglasses from the Germans and trade them on the market for grapes and watermelons. Incredible. 

The jaguars are thirsty and so are the cheetahs. They shouldn't run so much. They're always running, just like little kids, they don't go anywhere slowly. Unless they're stalking a prey, they run and run and run. No wonder they are thirsty. 

But it's also true the water holes are fewer and farther in between. Worse, if there no rain for weeks, everybody's in a bad mood. And I can't remember the last time it rained.

The worst part is that the sky teases us non-stop. Clouds gather, get thicker and darker and we build up hope. Then, just like that, the sun comes out pounding again hotter than before. 

Savanna life is cruel. 

Aha! Two groups now. Over here! Over here! ROAARRH! One Japanese and one South Korean.

Double whammy! With plenty of goods. 

The human factions refuse to mingle, even for selfies! They have Centuries' old differences that even to this day carry everywhere they go. So, whoever gets here first wins. Stragglers wilt away in the heat.

But we are the wild ones and the dangerous ones. We are the beasts that need to be tamed.

Except for those chattery monkeys, all united in common enterprise. Let them entertain the hoards.

No, they’ve come to see us, the wild ones. Well, at least one of us, tame enough, old enough, handsome and majestic enough, to approach…

So these bi-pedal uprights keep coming, panting and shuffling in two different groups to beat each other out. Each one more entitled, more deserving than the other. Entitled to what? Selfies with the wild and the dangerous. Through the waves of Savanna heat, they almost look cute—trying their damndest, lurching into awkward little jogs to beat the others to “The Lion.”

They are so slow it is hard to watch…

It's getting hotter and I’ve got such a thirst. Where the heck is Mombatu with my African spring water? Wish l could be independent again—but these old bones…and the watering hole just gets farther and farther away every day.

What if l was wilder than ever, just one last time? Bollocks on the pigs ears. Leave them to the chimps. I’ve still got that antelope hindquarter up in my tree…

What am l thinking?

Mombuto is here. Came up from behind, much faster than the tourists! Water! A sip. Just a little sip. Maybe two… As the Japanese surround me and my tree. Mmmm, pigs ears…l can smell the saltiness— almost taste those crispy treats.

What if l don’t play? 

Mombuto will be angry.

I feel myself slinking, claw over claw, leg over paw, up the bark of my Acacia tree. My body is not my own. I salivate for the treats, but l can also smell the hot tangy blood of the still fresh steak up there—my tasty cache. Up, up…l stretch out into the branches as the humans point and yell in confusion. It is cooler up here, just a little cooler.

I focus on the skyline. l look so noble to those on the ground. I dare not look at Mombatu. He will never bring me water again. I used to be able to see the watering hole from this branch. No more. It has receded far far away, forever. 

So, this is how it ends for the once wild, once dangerous. This is how it ends for me.

I hear Mombatu yell. He has never been so loud. I start.  I forget.  l look. No! His fist is raised in the air. He is pumping his fist at me, up and down in the air. 

…His mouth is turned strangely upward, and his white teeth gleam—as a big grin of satisfaction appears on his flat sunburned face.

No matter what, he will be my best friend in the world for the rest of my days.