It was a normal Saturday morning at around five o’clock. I was about four and this was what I did every day. I woke up and I lumbered over to my mom’s room and inched in, trying to not be noticed. This day was a little bit different from every other of my Saturdays. I had walked out of her room down the long hallway which was as dark as a midnight sky… but then I heard this profound growling noise behind me. I looked back and Simba, bloodshot eyes gleaming, stared me down as if he were a lion about to launch itself at a zebra. I was purely horrified.
I ran as fast as I could to the couch. I climbed up to the part that you would usually lean on and started screaming, like a monkey being attacked by another monkey. Simba jumped up onto the couch after me but just lay down on his back, the same thing most dogs do to be rubbed or petted. Then I started laughing my funny four- year- old laugh, as if I were a monkey who just found a perfect banana. I lay there with him, enjoying the moment with his deep warm breath against my arm.
Now he’s resting.