I Am A Lion

I am a lion, my life in Africa was alright until I was shot by a tranquilliser gun. I do not know who shot it, but it may have been the humans that I see riding in cars or lorries.

When I finally recovered from the tranquillity, I found myself in a cage with big black bars across, then a path, then a fence, and behind this fence was another lot of humans, all peering and staring goggle-eyed at me.

I thought that as I had such a big audience I would put on a show for them, so I roared my loudest and ran round the cage at full pelt, then I leapt high in the air to come down with a thud on the hard floor. I roared again because I had hurt myself severely. Also, I was hungry so I ran to the bars and stuck a paw through to try and get hold of one of the juicy morsels outside, but the path was too wide for my leg to go right over. I still caused quite a stir because people started screaming and backing away.

I became pleased with myself and strutted to the back of the cage where I saw a door and through this was coming a delicious aroma. I went in hurriedly and saw a big hunk of meat. I set on it at once and soon got rid of my pangs of hunger.

A few years have now passed since that first day and I have been moved from that cramped up little cage to an open big cage with grass and logs and a little hillock to climb up. I can’t say I prefer this life to the other one. For one thing, my food is brought to me and all the old thrill of killing has gone. I liked one day when I chased my keeper around my cage until he was tired out. Then I stood over him, roaring. I would not have killed him, he is far too kind to me to do that, I only wanted to frighten him.

My life is lazy now compared to the other one I once led, but I seem to have adapted to this life.

(c) M. Robert Gibson
First written 1976-02-02
Geography essay