Simba woke in the early morning, and lay still for a while remembering all the previous day’s events. He explored the sensations his body fed to his brain, the touch of Petra’s paw pads against his fur, his paws buried in the fur of the white lioness, the sound of her beating heart close to his ear, and the warmth of her breath on his cheek as he lay snuggled close, his head under her chin. Simba felt really good, warm and safe for the first time in he didn’t know how long.
“Ah good morning Simba Kizungu,” Kalahari called as he passed.
“Simba what?” The lion cub enquired.
“Simba Kizungu, lion of the white people,” Kalahari replied, pausing by the door, “it’s your new Swahili name. You had the first bit “Simba,” meaning lion, and I looked up the second bit for you. I was thinking of looking for the Swahili word for white, but couldn’t find it, coming closest with Kizungu, meaning of the white people, and that’s pretty much spot on I think.” With that the meerkat disappeared.
Kalahari on about?”
“Nothing mum,” Simba mewed, wanting to spare his mum the details until she was more awake.
“Tell me when
you get hungry little one,”
Simba purred, “I can eat meat, I’ll go and find some. I saw some of the other cats eating fish
while we were talking to Elsa last night.”
“Come on then,” she mewed; we’ll go get some fish. I can’t join you for it makes me sick.”
What will you do for food?” Simba asked.
“If you can’t eat meat, I certainly won’t!” Simba mewed, “it’s unfair that we can’t eat together, for that’s what mothers and cubs do. I know what meat does to you, for I overheard Samson and Theo talking about it late last night. I won’t eat meat mum and that’s flat!”
“But I want to,”
Simba protested, “I want to do it mum, please.”
Simba said, “let’s both go find food.”
“Your paws aren’t stiff, you’re a youngster,” she mewed.
“I might have
stiff paws,” Simba replied, “how would you know if I had or not? They’re my paws.”
Kalahari on about earlier?”
“Oh, that,” he mewed, “he said he’d been trying to find a second name for me, something to do with a word in another language which means white.”
“Kalahari said that to me,” the cub said, “but he used another word afterwards. He came past and said “good morning Simba, then he used this word, a new one which I’d never heard of until then. Kiz something…” Simba’s face screwed up in concentration, the cub fighting to get his infant memory to function, “Simba, kiz, kiz,” he said, worrying at the edge of the rug with the toes of one forepaw, “Oh forget it!” He snarled in frustration, “I can’t remember it!”
“Kizungu my dear cub,” Kalahari said softly. Simba snarled with surprise, whirling round on the meerkat!
“Don’t do that!” He mewed, realising his claws were extended. Shame faced, Simba retracted them.
“It means lion of
the white people,” Kalahari said.
“I’ve never been hugged by a lioness before,” Kalahari said, hoping his voice didn’t betray his natural fear of the big cats.
“Well now you
“Mum’s got nice
warm paws hasn’t she,” Simba mewed.
Kalahari, his head swimming with the urge to sleep, mumbled a
“Your touch even
soothes a meerkat,” Samson said, padding into the den.
“Looks that way,” she purred, kissing Kalahari on his nose. Samson stared in astonishment!
“You did mum,”
mothering ducks next
“What made you take Kalahari in your paws mum?” Simba asked.
“I don’t know, I
know even less about why I kissed his nose,”
“He was asleep
you know mum,” the cub mewed.
“Let’s go and
get something to eat,”
he mewed, settling down.
“Stop that!” She wined. Simba patted her neck.
downstairs!” He urged.
Down in the kitchen, Simba was given a bowl of the fish and vegetable mix.
“Now you eat that,” Winifred yinnied. Simba, having not seen an otter before, stared at her. Sensing the cub’s hesitation to comply with her command, Winifred padded over to Simba to reinforce her message. Tapping Simba on the nose to show she had no fear of the cub, Winifred said:
“Your mum’s not here, nor is her huge long haired friend, and I say you will eat that fish vegetable mix. Simba dipped his paw into the food and began to separate the fish from the vegetables. Winifred watched him.
“You will eat it all,” the otter said, “fish, and vegetables. Simba, feeling anxious because his mum wasn’t with him, slowly ate the vegetables hoping the otter would go away. When he had no more veg, and the fish stretched into eternity, Simba pushed his bowl away.
“I’m not hungry,” he mewed, though he still was.
“You can eat meat,” Winifred snapped, “so eat it you little runt!” Simba tried to roar at the she otter, but all that came out was a cubbish whimpering mew.
“Don’t you ever roar at me Simba my boy!” Winifred said mockingly. Frustrated and angry, Simba knocked the bowl over, kicking it across the tiles, the plastic bowl bouncing off the wall and coming back at him, fish flying out of it and covering Simba from ears to paws. Winifred, now angry with the lion cub, picked him up in her paws, sat him on a stool, dusted him down roughly with a towel, and then carried him, struggling madly, to the punishment room which she reserved for errant cubs that didn’t eat their food. Simba spat and snarled in protest!
“Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t eat?” He snapped, “I’m Simba, a white lion cub! My mum doesn’t eat meat, so why should I? I don’t want my meat!”
“I know your name and what you are!” Winifred snapped, “You’re a horrid little worm, a nasty scrap!” Dropping Simba inside the isolation room, Winifred closed the door and walked back to her duties. Simba, disorientated and shaken, looked round him. He was in a bare room, with plastic flooring and nothing else. Padding round the room, he found nothing. Investigating the door brought no results, as it was cub proof. There was a handle way up high, but he couldn’t reach it. Trying to clamber up the door didn’t help, as his claws could get no purchase on the wood.
“I don’t want to be in here!” Simba yelled, banging on the door with the flat of one tiny forepaw, “let me out!” Simba’s banging and crashing about produced no results. He curled up in a miserable heap on the floor, the floor cold to his paws.
“Mum, where are you?” He whispered, now frightened.
Meanwhile, back in the kitchen,
in the kitchen?”
“He pushed his
bowl away when all he had left was fish to eat.
I told him he wasn’t to leave the fish, and he told me he wasn’t
hungry. Now I know that cub’s only had
your milk to drink since he arrived, and that’s not much food for a growing
cub. I told him to eat his fish, and he
kicked the bowl across the room. It
bounced off the wall and covered him in fish.
I cleaned him up, and sent him back to the cubbing den.
Not finding Simba there, she searched the house for him, becoming anxious. Running down the stairs, she found Winifred leaving the house.
“Simba’s nowhere to be found!” She mewed.
“I don’t know where he is.” The she otter replied, the door closing behind her.
Meanwhile, Simba, in the bare room, felt cold and lonely. The room was unheated and pitch dark, for it was in reality an old walk in store cupboard. Shivering with cold and fear, Simba buried his face in his paws and burst into tears.
“Where are you
little Simba Kizungu,”
In his lonely room, Simba’s tears had dried, and he lay on the floor cold and stiff. His body wasn’t good at retaining heat, he relied on his mum for that, as white cubs have poor circulation, getting little better in adulthood, especially where their paws were concerned. Simba felt tired, and so scared he was worried he’d be sick. Simba crawled to the door, and set about trying to work a paw beneath it. He couldn’t even get his toes beneath the door. Frustrated, he balled his right forepaw into a fist and punched the door with such force he heard his toes crack. The pain of this made Simba scream with anger. He suddenly felt an uncontrollable urge to vomit. Staggering to a corner, he was violently sick. Exhausted, Simba collapsed, his whole body shaking so hard his paws ached and teeth chattered.
“If Winifred had
taken Simba anywhere in the house, someone would have seen them,” she thought,
“What the hell are you doing!” The lioness asked.
imprisoned Simba in this cupboard!”
“Winnie wouldn’t do anything like that!” The lioness snapped.
authoritarian, and hates lion cubs,” Theo mewed, “she would do something like
that! I’ve told you Elsa, ever since I
killed Tarker, Winifred’s not to be trusted with the lion cubs!”
mum!” Simba cried as he struggled to
control things, “I can’t stop it!” He
screamed, doubling over in another desperate attempt to be sick.
“It’s okay Simba;
I promise it’s going to be all right!”
“Winifred will pay for this!” Theo yelled.
“She’ll take it
out on me!” Simba shrieked, choking on
his tears, his whole body shaking violently, “she hates me! I thought I’d left that behind, I thought
that was all gone!” Simba buried his
“Where can we go where he’ll calm down?” Elsa asked.
You must wash
him first, and you must wash yourself too
“We will wash
“You don’t like my mate?” Theo asked.
“Elsa took me in
as a cub,”
“Winifred will pay,” he mewed, “I promise you and Simba that!”
“It’s going to
“Please,” he choked, “don’t let furry Winnie do that to me again!”
“I won’t, I
“Take it easy
little Simba Kizungu,”
“Simba,” she mewed, “why did you shout at Winifred?” Simba looked as if he would cry at any moment.
“You mean the
furry animal who gave me the bowl of fish and vegetables?” Simba asked.
“Well,” the cub
continued, “furry Winnie hadn’t finished.
She said I would eat the fish because you weren’t there to say
otherwise, nor, nor was your long haired friend. So what she said was law,” Simba said
quickly. He panted his distress
“I separated the
fish from the vegetables, and ate the veg, just like I said I would. When the veg was all gone, I pushed my bowl
away, telling furry Winnie that I wasn’t hungry. She told me I could eat meat, and that I had
to, then, then, she shouted at me, calling me, um, what was it? A, a runt, whatever that is. I tried to roar at her, but she didn’t like
it. She told me not to roar at her
again, though, my roar wasn’t a roar mum, more of a mew actually. I can’t roar,
I tried, but I can’t roar!”
jumped up hearth rug!
“I kicked the
bowl across the room in frustration!”
Simba mewed, looking down at his toes, which were now curled hard into
the rug, “the bowl hit the wall and rushed back at me, the fish flying out of
it and covering me from nose to paw pads!
Furry Winnie grabbed me, plonked me on a wooden seat and beat me with a
towel! This got the fish out of my fur,”
Simba gulped for breath,
“Then, then she
picked me up in her mouth! I dangled
there, kicking the air with my paws and complaining! I told her I was Simba a white lion cub and
that you didn’t eat your meat mum, so why should I eat mine. She told me she knew who and what I was, and
then called me a horrid scrap and a worm, whatever those are.”
“What the hell’s going on here!” He demanded.
“I’ll tell you
in a minute Samson,”
“I got thrown
into the dark cold room with the hard floor,” he mewed almost inaudibly, “it
was horrid in there! I heard the door
close, and, and padded about, looking for an escape route. I couldn’t find one, I even tried climbing
the door, for I could see a handle on it, way above my head, but that didn’t
work.” Samson’s legs collapsed beneath
stop!” Simba choked, “I don’t want to make
you cry mum!”
“Carry on Simba dear cub,” Samson said softly, “tell all, and then we will deal with what we find.” Simba continued, glancing anxiously at his weeping mum.
“I banged on
the door with my paws, but noone came,” the cub mewed, “so I lay down and tried
to sleep, I slept for a while, then got up and tried to get my paw under the
door to open it. I couldn’t do it! I tried so hard! Angry, I hit the door with my paw, and that
hurt so much I screamed, but noone heard.
Time passed, and I got cold and frightened. I was terrified noone would find me in there,
I’d made as much noise as I could, but noone could hear me!”
“Carry on Simba,” he encouraged, for he knew the cub needed to tell his tale.
“I got so worried, I was sick,” Simba mewed, “that made me feel worse, so I slept some more. The next thing I knew, the door was coming down, and I was scared again! This made me be sick once more, and then I was in mum’s paws, still being sick, and mum knows the rest.” Simba looked relieved his tale was over, a tiny smile of satisfaction touching his mouth.
“I want furry Winnie to pay!” He mewed, sounding like Samson when he spoke of punishing Orsa.
“Oh yes Simba,”
Samson said softly, his emotions more controlled than
Theo was furious! He
knew all the keys to the various cupboards had been confiscated by the boss so
no cub could get locked in. Had Winifred
found a key, for the door behind which Simba was trapped had been quite
definitely locked. Theo had never before
seen the strength a lioness had when her cub was in danger.
“Am I fit to be leader any longer?” He asked aloud. Theo then saw something which confused him. In the mirror it seemed to Theo that his and Samson’s faces had become one, one lion! Theo looked behind him, but Samson was nowhere to be seen.
“Please!” Theo begged the mirror, suddenly feeling an
urge to clasp his paws together, just as
“Is Simba safe now?” Theo felt a paw take his. Looking round, he found Samson lying beside him.
“Sammy, I mean Samson,” Theo blurted, “I’m so confused!” Samson nuzzled Theo’s ear, the familiar gesture bringing tears to the smaller lion’s eyes.
“I will help you face this,” Samson mewed, “Theo; you won’t have to face it alone.” Theo cried into Samson’s fur.
“Poor Simba,” he wept, “it must have been awful in that prison!” Samson knew the truth of the situation, and hoped he didn’t convey any of it to Theo, though he wasn’t sure if the younger lion couldn’t retell Simba’s tale word for word.
“Simba suffered horribly didn’t he,” Theo sniffed.
“I don’t know much about it,” Samson lied. Theo’s paw landed smack on Samson’s nose!
“You know, I know you know what happened!” Theo choked, “I know Simba told you, told you everything, I know it Samson! You don’t, don’t try fobbing me off, I know your mind! You know what happened! You know if he suffered!”
“Do you want my help or not?” Samson asked, rubbing his nose with his paw.
Samson. I’m so sorry Sammy, I know, know
you want to keep it private, for, for Simba’s your cub as much as he is
“You do not need to know everything,” Samson mewed, “answer me this Theo; could you carry out the ultimate sentence on Winifred? Could you, as community leader, kill the bitch otter if needed?” Theo gasped in horror.
“You, you want to, to kill her?” He asked hoarsely.
“Yes,” Samson mewed, “her crimes against lion cubs are too great, too numerous. She needs to be taken off the scene.”
“Can’t we exile her?” Theo asked, “That would be acceptable, and no bloodshed is needed.”
“I don’t think
anything but her death is acceptable,” Simba mewed, crawling up to Theo, “furry
Winnie made my life hell, for what reason, because she hated white lion
cubs. It’s up to me to eat meat, not for
her to tell me what I can and can’t eat.
I went through hell in that room, and if
“You will find retribution hard to dish out,” Simba mewed, “but you must Theo, you must.” Theo gulped hard.
“I cannot kill Winifred!” He sobbed.
“If I were grown up, I’d do it myself!” Simba snarled, his tiny claws extended.
“You couldn’t little cub, it’s not right to talk like that!” Theo protested.
“Theo, you do
not remember the wild,” Simba mewed, “I do, and cub abusers were hunted down
and killed! Now we will hunt the otter
down and do justice to her!”
“You couldn’t!” Theo mewed, “you’re not strong enough Simba!”
Go on, Try it scrap, worm!” Winifred yelled. Theo whipped round, the she otter stood, her fur erect and mouth open in a snarl of rage.
“I’ve never eaten lion,” Winifred yikkered, “there’s a first time for everything! I’m late for my dinner!” She sprang at Simba, the tiny cub, not yet on his paws, crawling between her forelegs and striking up with his paws. Winifred arched her back, her teeth clamping down on Simba’s paw! The cub screamed with pain and, now on his back, kicked upwards with his hind paws! Feeling his claws digging into flesh, he curled his toes hard into Winfred, the she otter opening her mouth to scream with pain! Simba closed his eyes, set his teeth and pushed with his hind paws! Winifred, the claws of both the lion cub’s hind paws buried in her belly, wriggled and thrashed, unable to get to his head. Rolling onto her back, she tried to get at Simba with her forepaws and teeth, but the cub, sensing this, gathered his strength and, opening his mouth in a scream of Anger, spanked Winifred on her nose! Simba’s paw landed with a splintering smack! Winifred’s head jerked backwards, Simba clamping the she otter’s face in his tiny mouth, trying to suffocate her. Simba held on grimly, caring about nothing else other than winning the fight! He felt his teeth biting into Winfred’s nose, the blood warm and sweet. He hung on with all four paws, digging his claws into the she otter’s neck and abdomen! Winifred felt her fragile lower jaw break under the cub’s relentless pressure, her nose filling with blood and saliva! Simba held on, panting through his nose as he fought for every last inch. Pushing hard with his hind paws, he drove himself forward, his teeth ripping the otter’s face as he moved. Simba, his eyes screwed tight shut, rocked back and fourth, back and fourth, clamping down with his teeth and claws, trying to kill Winifred! Winifred’s struggle was frantic but short lived. The claws of Simba’s forepaws had buried themselves in her windpipe, tearing her throat out before he’d done the job the conventional way. Winifred died after five minutes of this. Simba’s own strength ebbing just as the otter gave up her fight. Letting go suddenly, Simba fell off Winfred’s lifeless form, collapsing onto the floor. He felt awful!
dead!” Samson mewed, checking the she
otter over. Simba spat, gasped and
panted for air, his forepaw bleeding where Winifred had bitten it. He ached all over, his whole body racked with
killed her Simba,”
“I tried,” he
mewed faintly, “I stuffed Winifred good and proper!”
“How did he do it?” Theo mewed, picking himself up off the floor.
strength,” Samson mewed, “just like
“He’s eaten his
meat for the day I think,”
“Well done Simba Kizungu,” he whispered. Simba nuzzled the huge lion’s paw.
“I did what I
was told,” he mewed, “she said eat my meat, so I did.” Theo turned a laugh into a cough, but
“You can always trust a cub to be witty at a time like this,” she mewed. Theo stared at Simba.
“Orsa next,” he thought, dreading the confrontation.
Snowy and Tigger watched from their control room, snowy hardly believing her eyes.
“Simba killed Winifred!” She mewed, “how, how could a cub do that? How could he? It’s impossible!”
“His family were in danger,” Tigger mewed, “we tigers know little of the lion’s strong family bonds. Simba obeyed his instinct, and ate his meat for the day too.” Snowy looked grim.
“Is it good for a cub to be killing so young?” She asked, “Simba’s going to think he can take on the world!”
“No, I don’t think he will,” someone said. Snowy looked round to find Leo looking into her eyes.
“Leo?” She asked, what the hell are you doing here!” The lion’s spirit bowed his head.
“I gave Simba the strength and know-how to fight Winifred, to, to, try and make reparations for killing Halfear. Simba had the courage to kill his adversary, but neither the knowledge nor the strength. I gave him that strength and knowledge. Now he is free, and the community will be safer from tyrants like Winifred. Theo too is taking counsil from a wise head I think. Samson is as wise as they come. Wild yes, but wise and gentle until crossed. Now snowy, I must go.” With that Leo’s ghost vanished.
“Leo gave Simba the strength and know-how to carry out his
task,” Theo mewed to
“I thought as much,” the white lioness mewed.
“Simba’s a brave
cub anyway,” Theo said, “but not old enough or big enough to take on
Winifred. Leo knew this and gave him the
strength to outdo the otter. I think Leo
cares for little Simba a great deal.”
Simba mewed, “I’m not going to take on the world. That wasn’t me who killed Winifred, as it
wasn’t you mum who killed Leo.”
“I’m glad you’re safe little Simba Kizungu,” she mewed. Simba kissed her nose, now wet with tears.
“I did what I had to,” Simba mewed, “I stuffed furry Winnie when she wanted me stuffed!” Simba looked round him, his eyes falling on Theo, the lion looking back at him. “You are a brave little cub,” the community leader mewed, “but don’t attempt anything like that until you are older. You do not know who gave you the strength to fight Winifred…”
“Your brother Leo,” Simba mewed, “I know who he is Theo, I’ve met him, and we spoke briefly while I was being washed after the fight. I know he gave me the strength and the knowledge. He said he was trying to make reparations, whatever they are.”
“Leo with his long words,” Theo mused, the memory of his brother saddening him, “dear Leo.”
“You need not
fear Simba doing anything like that again,” Samson mewed padding into the
cubbing den, “for he will not.” Theo
looked into the large lion’s face and thought for a second he saw Leo looking
back at him. Samson lay down beside
“Time to go
fruit picking my dear,” he mewed, kissing her nose.
“Can’t we have a
place?” Samson replied, “you must be
“Am I going fruit picking with you?” He asked.
“Um, I suppose
“I could clip a dog harness on your overcoat,” Samson mewed, “that’s able to carry Simba, and if he wants to crawl about a bit, we can release the harness from your overcoat.”
harness?” Simba asked. Before he knew what was happening, his head,
then his paws and tail were shovelled into straps and he was lifted in Samson’s
paws and placed on
“Let’s go mum!” Simba mewed, trying to jump up and down, as was his way when excited. The elastic cord kept him pretty much in the same place.
“I wish you
wouldn’t jump up and down on my back!”
“Oh, sorry,” Simba mewed.
“If you don’t
stop leaping about, I’ll leave you here!”
“I’m not jumping
about now,” he mewed.
”you can get off
in a minute, try feeling the ground beneath your paws,”
played with me lately mum,” Simba mewed, “I’m missing it.”
“We’ll play as
soon as we get home if you like,” she replied.
Simba wanted his mum to stroke and play with his paws, for they were a source
of great pleasure for him, as he knew her paws were for her.
The fruit picking got under way;
“How am I going
to get down?” He asked.
mewed. Simba didn’t so much jump, as
fall out of the tree,
lightning quick,” Samson mewed, padding near, “well caught
“Paw massage is so good,” he purred, “I love paw play mum.”
“So do I,”
“Your pads are rough mum,” Simba mewed.
I’m older than you are little Simba,”
“I love this,” she mewed, forgetting for a minute they were in a wood in the middle of the night. Samson watched them.
“Paw play isn’t just tickling or stroking paws then,” he thought, “it’s exploration of paws too. Stroking pads and the fur between them must be so nice. I wish I could be as free as Simba and his mum are. They are expressing their love for each other with touch, each using their paws to explore the other’s paw pads and toes. Samson wanted to experience this, and wondered if Fleur knew how to give pleasure through paw play. His answer came when he felt a familiar paw pick up his left fore and stroke his paw. Fleur whispered into Samson’s ear:
“Paw play as soon as we get home, okay?” Samson curled his toes round those massaging his pads.
“I’m looking forward to it very much,” he mewed.
“What does your
name mean mum?” Simba asked, “
“Petra Kizungu,” Simba mewed to himself.
Kizungu,” Simba mewed, “rock of the white people. Well, you are that, or were that for some
time if what I’ve heard is right.”
rock, even if everyone else has rejected you,” Simba mewed.
“Mum’s gone all
silly,” Simba observed.
on me!” Simba mewed, standing on tiptoe
to try and nuzzle his mum’s whiskers, which he still couldn’t reach.
“I love you
“I love you mum,” Simba purred.
Orsa snarled, “horrid scrap! Now you
“You didn’t learn
did you,” she growled, “now it’s not a cub punishing you, it’s a lioness, one
that can pull down oak doors!”
mum!” Simba yelled.
“My cub has been
endangered twice this day, it’s not happening again!”
“You do not tangle
“No mum, get her
while you have the chance!” Simba
for good this time,”
awful,” he said.
“I probably blinded Orsa in one eye,” she gasped, “Eohippus only knows what damage I caused other than that. Allie’s gonna hate me forever now, but that’s okay.”
shouldn’t have threatened the life of a lion cub,” Simba mewed, “that behaviour
doesn’t really win friends.”
would have killed Orsa if Allie hadn’t arrived,”
“If my cub was
in danger from a brute like Orsa, I think I would too,” Bramble said, padding
into the den.
“With Orsa yes,”
Bramble replied, “not with you
“There’s a blow for lion polar bear relations,” she mewed.
“Orsa’s a bully anyway,” Bramble mewed, “throwing her weight about like she does, who the hell does she think she is!”
“Don’t talk to me about her!” Simba snarled, “She’s the one who kicked me from pillar to post!”
“What?” Bramble asked. Hugging Simba tenderly,
“The bloody horrid bitch!” Bramble yelled, stamping her large paws in anger, “she should be strung up for what she did!”
“If I had the strength,” Simba mewed, “I’d do the deed right now, but I don’t, so I can’t.”
“You’re a blood thirsty little cub,” Bramble observed, looking closely at Simba.
“I’m sorry,” the cub mewed, his ears drooping, “I don’t mean to be, but I’ve been so mistreated by those who have no reason to hurt me, that I can’t help it sometimes.”
“That’s okay,” she replied.
That night, Simba settled down with
Indeed, Fleur had knocked Orsa out with a powerful drug only
she knew how to use, the polar bear cub stretched on the floor of the
bathroom. Fleur washed away the blood and
muck from Orsa’s nose and eye, seeing the damage for the first time. Orsa’s left eye had gone completely, gouged
“I’ll go get Kodiak for the delicate bits,” he mewed. Kodiak padded in and cleaned Orsa up enough so he could work on her injuries with Fleur’s guidance. Kodiak, with his more mobile forepaws, swabbed and disinfected the socket of Orsa’s left eye, the eye itself having been destroyed. Kodiak then closed Orsa’s eye lid. Sewing it shut, he looked over at Samson, who was at his usual pass time when anxious of shuffling his paws. The lion looked concerned.
“What’s to stop Orsa from doing Simba even more harm?” He asked, “The poor cub has done nothing to deserve her anger.”
“I won’t, can’t do any more,” Orsa gasped, coming round slightly from her drugged sleep, “I’m half blinded, scarred for life, and disgraced. I know what could happen to me if I carry on like I have. I need to try, try and get along, try and realise white cubs are not footballs!”
“Why did you do it to him?” Samson asked, his voice cracking with emotion.
“I was silly, a
silly cub. I thought the pride thing was
bluster and rubbish, now though, since
“You do know he’s had nightmares about what you did to him,” someone said. Orsa turned her head to look at the speaker.
“Leo?” She asked, “oh, oh no! You’re not going to do to me what I did to Simba are you? Please no!” Leo smiled wolfishly.
“What an idea, what a wonderful idea!” He purred. Then, becoming angry:
“I do this so you won’t touch a hair on Simba’s head ever again!” Orsa then saw and felt what she’d done to Simba, the polar bear cub thrashing the water white with her struggle against the kicks and blows raining in on her.
“Make it stop!” Orsa screamed.
“You now see what happened to Simba?” Leo asked, “Now you’ve paid for your folly with half your sight. You will think twice before doing anything like that again won’t you Orsa!” Leo yelled. Orsa, exhausted and frightened, whimpered a reply.
“I want to see
is, do they want to see you?” Leo asked,
“I don’t know if
“Paw play isn’t for adults!” Orsa yelled.”
“I thought that,” Leo mewed, “and it got me nowhere.”
“Follow your paws, follow the instincts, follow the path,” Samson mewed. Orsa looked into Samson’s face.
“You don’t even know what your paws are!” She screamed.
“I don’t really
know yet,” Samson mewed, “but I am willing to, and desperately want to
learn. Unlike you Orsa, I have learned a
lot in my short time here. I want to
learn the ways of the paw, to touch, to stroke, how to love via the paw.
“I heard their
“I need to talk to Simba!” She yelled.
“Over my dead body will you get anywhere near that cub!” Samson yelled back.
“I want to tell him how sorry I am,” Orsa said faintly.
“Yeah right,” Samson snapped, “all you want to do is get him near you, and you’d drown him in the bathtub!”
Meanwhile, back in the cubbing den, Simba woke
suddenly. He’d had a dream, a dream
which involved a polar bear cub with a disfigured face. The bear was crying under a bush. Simba couldn’t go to her, and she couldn’t
come to him because she had an injured paw and he wasn’t allowed by
“Where are you going Simba?” She asked. Simba knew he couldn’t lie, but when the truth sank in, he’d have no time at all to get a head start on his mum, who’d stop him going to the polar bear in his dream if it was the last thing she did.
“I’m going to
see a polar bear that’s got her paw trapped under a log,” Simba mewed. With that he padded from the room, turned the
corner and bolted!
“Polar bear with a trapped paw? Hmm, what does he mean?” Her mind flicked back to Orsa’s bitten left forepaw.
paw,” Petra thought, “something pinning
her paw, maybe teeth, maybe, something else, her own misgivings and hatred for
Simba stopping her from going to him? So he has to go to her. Oh no!”
Leaping to her paws,
harder to stop Simba, curl your toes into that carpet
“But Orsa, Orsa’s
going to kill Simba!”
“Can’t you see? Can’t you hear?” Samson asked, “Listen Petra, stop yelling and listen as well as open those blue eyes of yours.”
Simba, now free of his mum’s paw, padded to Orsa’s motionless form. The polar bear was sleepy, her one good eye half closed, the destroyed one closed forever. Simba padded towards Orsa, seeing the polar bear in his dream, her paw trapped beneath a log. This polar bear didn’t have a log trapping her paw, though she had an injured left forepaw, the one in his dream which was pinned by the log.
“I have come,” Simba mewed softly to the polar bear, which he saw was really only a cub. Simba recognised Orsa as the bear who’d kicked him in the net, and had attacked him in the garden, but this time she looked different, not just injured, but different.
said softly, “Simba Kizungu?”
“You have no right to speak his name Orsa,” she thought angrily.
“Yes, I am Simba Kizungu,” Simba replied.
“I need, need,
your, I need your help Simba!” Orsa
sobbed, “I need to get back what I’ve lost!
I’ve gone down the wrong path, towards Tarker, towards furry
Winnie! I don’t want to be like
“I did all that?” She asked, horrified.
“In defence of
your cub,” Samson mewed. Now Simba did
something which appalled
“This paw is Furry Winnie?” Simba asked. Orsa, now crying, nodded.
“Why did she bite you?” Simba asked.
“I was asked by
her to look out for white lion cubs.
After, well, after
“Punishment for what?” Simba asked.
“For just being
there, and being, being, a white lion cub!
I hoped beating you up would placate Winnie, and I could tell her that
and not let on you were in the house, hoping
didn’t like white lion cubs?”
“No,” Samson replied, “ever since you in her mind, caused Tarker’s death, she’s been looking out to do you harm in any way she could. She could not poison your food because you prepared it yourself, so she had to wait, wait for another white lion cub to appear and for you to do your natural thing.”
“But why would
Winnie have killed Simba before I got to him like Orsa said she would if for me
to bring the cub in was what she wanted?”
“Winnie would have killed the cub if she’d found it, but if she could at all kill two birds with one stone, she would do so. Her plans changed when Simba turned up unannounced. Hence the imprisonment of the white cub in the cupboard. Winnie hoped Simba would starve to death, and you’d be so distraught you’d leave the community for good. Winnie’s downfall was to pick on a strong cub, and an even stronger lioness.”
“Take Winnie away from me Simba!” Orsa begged.
“Are you truly sorry for what you did to me?” Simba asked.
“Yes. I know I can’t fix my scars, and that I will be blind on my left side forever, but I’m not talking about physical pain, this is emotional pain, emotional torture. Simba lifted the female polar bear cub’s badly bitten paw and kissed it. Orsa relaxed into sleep, Simba padding away.
“The upshot of
all that,” Simba announced, was that furry Winnie was mad as a bag of
snakes. She hated white lion cubs for no
sane reason. Her cub had conspired to
kill one long ago, and got killed for his trouble. So Winnie, or furry Winnie, or Winifred
launched a hate war against white lion cubs.
I happened to be the next one.
There it is. As for the reason
why I came down here to talk to Orsa, one was to find out what was going on;
the other was to give a misguided polar bear another chance.”
“Eohippus wanted you to talk to Orsa,” she stated.
“I suppose she
did,” Simba mewed, “now mum, let’s go back to bed.”
“How about if I
stroke your paws a bit when we get back upstairs,” he suggested, “I’d like to
do that for you mum.”
“Let’s go,” she mewed.
Simba padded up to the cubbing den, then, when he reached
the rug on which he and his mum slept, he dropped to a crawling posture,
letting his mum touch the pads and toes of his hind paws.
“You have soft
even harder than yours,” Simba mewed, turning his head so that even though his
back was to his mum, he could still make eye contact with her. Simba suddenly turned round to face
against me while I push your paw away mum,” Simba mewed.
“You’re a strong cub now Simba,” she panted. Simba touched the pads of her left forepaw, they were hot and damp.
“Let me stroke
your paws mum,” he mewed, “all four of them,” he added.
“May your paws
always give you guidance and good information Simba,”
“May your paws
always give comfort and warmth to lost cubs and help them to safety,” he
“I love you
“I love you
Petra Kizungu. You are my rescuer, my
rock, but most of all, my mum. I don’t
care what our past is; I love you with all I have.”
“We are one you and I,” Simba mewed.
To go to the list of diary entries:
To go to the site homepage:
To send mail
Martin Wilsher © 2007
Site contents Copyright Martin Wilsher 2010
This website is hosted by 34sp.com. why not check out their services,