Rambo Chuck and the Lion's Roar

    Who would have guessed that a lion's roar could turn my mild- mannered orange and white rascal cat Chuck into Rambo at your typical wild animal park? 

    Everything that day started out normal. My sisters and I are all inveterate animal lovers--owning cats and dogs. Watching animal shows on TV. So it's no surprise that if there's a zoo within a 100 mile radius, we will want to go to see the animals. 

    That morning my four sisters and I (and Chuck, of course) drove to a wild animal park called Paws and Claws. We were in a particularly goofy mood. It felt good to be outside, wandering around and not have to wear masks and worry about catching the dreaded covid virus. Besides, this zoo had a good reputation for treating the animals well. The cages were kept clean. The animals were well fed. And there was a fantastic gift shop!

    Before we even snatched our first glimpse of an animal, as we were still traipsing down the connecting path from the gift shop to the actual zoo part, a sound reverberated through the air that shook us to the core. It sounded like part thunder and part end of world. If you've never heard a lion roar, in real life I mean, you can't begin to understand how a deep throated lion's roar carries for miles. The air shakes around you. When I was on safari in Kenya, Africa, on the plains, a lion's roar put the fear of God into you. But even here in the supposed safety of a zoo, the roar can stop you in your tracks.

    "What was that?" one of my sisters asked.

    "I don't know, but it sounded like . . ."

     I knew what it was. I'd heard that sound before, and I could only hope to God that the lion who roared so ferociously was safely behind bars. 

     Even though I knew what it was, I didn't know what it meant. I glanced down at Chucky. He'd stopped in his tracks. His ears perked up. He looked around as if he was expecting something to happen. In that instant, his entire manner changed. I should have noticed the not so subtle change in his personality, but I didn't. You know that moment on screen when Clark Kent becomes Superman. When Bruce Wayne becomes Batman. But this was real life and for Chucky, he didn't throw off his fur and don another costume. 

      My sisters continued their walk down the path and were easily distracted. They had a chance to show off their silly side by pretending to be kangaroos. I tried shrug off the unsettled feeling of the roar and to even get Chucky to pose, but he would have none of it.

     His avoidance of all things fun should have tipped me off that he had something else in mind. I have to admit, most times, he is one step ahead of me. 

      

  After the kangaroo posing, we got serious about visiting all the usual suspects that you expect to meet in a zoo. Our cameras were clicking away. We were oohing and aahing and moving along at an unnaturally quick pace, mostly spurred on by Chucky. 

    

     To see the entire zoo takes about two hours (not counting the gift shop time.) Chuck seemed happy to be outside and sniff along. He seemed somewhat interested in all the animals, but in a curious kind of way he maintained his distance. I did my best to keep my eye on him. 

     At one point, the path we were following forked. Chuck took the less obvious path. He began to move faster and faster. That's when I knew something was up. 

    I glanced behind me. My sisters had stopped to watch the monkeys. 

    "Chuck, wait up."

    But he didn't.

   Suddenly we were at the lion's cage. Several thoughts flew through my mind. #1 Chucky looked like he was headed straight for the cages. #2 Lions usually don't roar just to roar.  #3 There was more than one lion in that cage and they looked restless.

    

     By this time I was out of breath. My imagination was running wild. One gigantic lion's paw reaching out of the cage and strangling my cat, for example, was just one tragic thought I had. Did he look like a snack to them? Were these animals really all that well fed? Were they roaring for more food?

    

      By this time, Chuck reached the lion's cage. He began to paw the part that held the lock. Not in some half casual way, but he pawed that lock the way he pawed our stair carpeting at home, like he was trying to rip it to shreds. When that didn't work, he began to cat-body slam the cage, hoping that it would suddenly disintegrate. 

    He was trying to free the lions from the cage! Crazy cat. He was obviously affected by the fact that he and the lion shared the same lineage. His pawing caught one of the lion's attention who ambled over. Chuck meowed. I thought to myself--if this lion roars again, I will have a heart attack.

       But, no, the lion came over just to sniff. He had no intention of eating Chuck. I think maybe he even shrugged as if to say: "No use, buddy. I can see what you're trying to do, but they really lock us in here." 

     And for good reason.

    A few seconds later the lion drifted back and laid down for a snooze. 

    I picked Chucky up and carried him away from the cage. 

    "What were you thinking?"

    Before he had a chance to meow, my sisters appeared. 

    "Don't get too close to that cage," one of them advised. "Those lions look dangerous."

    "Yeah, remember that roar we heard?"

     "You see," I whispered. "And you were trying to set the dangerous lions free? They may look like you, and you may think they're just big cats, Chuck, but trust me there's more than meets the eye."

      After all, a roar is way different than a meow. And twice as dangerous!