Christmas II

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8:  Christmas II


 


 


 


The lioness nestled down in a pile of blankets in the corner of my bedroom.  I put down a big bowl of water, and another tray to put meat on.  We bought meat from the nearest supermarket for when the animals were in the house.  It seemed wrong, somehow, to offer a wildebeest shelter, then slaughter it to feed the lions.  Also, none of us would have been willing to actually slit a throat.


The cubs were busy exploring their new territory.  One of them, the dominant one, had somehow managed to climb onto my bed.  The smaller one was investigating the water bowl.  Their mother had lain down, and was studying her young, slowly swishing her tail.


I pointed to a tray in the furthest corner of my room.  "That's the toilet tray."  I said.  "You go to the toilet in there.  Not anywhere else.  I'll change it every day, so it doesn't smell."


The cubs scarcely noticed that I'd spoken.  The lioness didn't move, or blink, or anything.  I couldn't tell if any of them had absorbed in the information.


Sighing, I picked up both cubs, and sat them down next to their mother in the pile of blankets.  I dragged a chair across the floor, and plonked it directly in front of them.  I sat down.


"Hello."  I said.  "I'm Olivia.  I'm going to be looking after you."


I waited for one of them to speak.


"I'm Olivia."  I repeated.  This time, I got a response, but not from the mother.


The elder cub stood up.  "I'm Gutripper!"  He proclaimed proudly.  "And I'm big and strong and brave and awesome!"  He grinned.


His sister mumbled something, but I couldn't make out the words.


The lioness turned her attention to her son and spoke for the first time.  "No," she said, "Your name is not Gutripper."


"Oh."  Gutripper whined.  "Can my name be Gutripper?"


"No."  His mother replied firmly.


"Knasher?"


"No."


"Zombie?"


"No."


"Killer?"


"No."

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