From Couragous to Cowardice; a Journey

         "Jeeze, would she lay off?" Her shrill voice echoed in his head like a tinny snare drum! "Why does she do this? I'm a little long in the tooth to be carrying on like this."

         He pulled out the file from his dueling bag and began sharpening his claws and teeth. "CL"... he mused. "Courageous Lion". He remembered all the duels he'd fought to get the moniker.

         "How many times does she get me into these fights, the damn braggart?"

         "My husband is the king of the Jungle. He can tear you limb from limb" he mimicked under his breath in her singsong arrogant voice. "It's easy for her to say it but it's getting harder for me to hold up to her expectations!" He sighed. "Not going to worry too much about sharpening up the claws, my God, it's just a mouse." Vaguely in the back of his mind he remembered a stirring tale of a mouse saving his great-granddaddy when he got caught in a net.

         “After this, she can kiss it. I have enough in my savings; I'm retiring. Best to get out while you're on top." He stretched and thought of the little Spanish mouse darting around yapping in Spanish and chuckled.

         He'd actually met Speedy before when he and the old lady had taken a tour of the Ft. Worth Zoo in 74'. Speedy had been full of piss and vinegar then, too. He sighed, one more fight, not even a challenge, and he was home free. Years of keeping up with the Tigers had taken its toll.

         He looked around the plush den and wanted nothing more than to kick back in his antelope hammock and take a nap. Jeeze, the sun was still up for god’s sake. He could hear the crowd gathering outside and the dingo’s barking, ”Gopher! Gopher! Get your hot gopher on a stick.” “Mmmm, gopher! Taste so good it makes your lips want to turn around and kiss your teeth. I’ll get some later,” he thought. “This sucks! What a waste of time!” He strolled out into the light.

         The sun beat down on his coat and he lazily eyed the mouse’s corner. Speedy was being oiled up and he could hear the senoritas murmuring, “Ah, Poppy, you got this one.” Their accents tickled his ears. He wanted to laugh it was so pathetic. The crowds of animals were surging forward trying to get a glance. Speedy must have sent out flyers; it was like a planned stampede had been scheduled. He flexed and the zebra began announcing the stats and laying down rules. “One swat”, he thought, and this is over. He licked his lips and grinned a cocky grin. Somebody should really call this fight.

         The roars of laughter rang in his ears as he came to, squinting in the sun. He was momentarily confused by the babble of Spanish buzzing in the background. “What happened?” he whispered looking around. As he tried to rise, his knees collapsed bringing him eye to eye with his thoroughly disgusted wife. His kids wouldn’t look in his direction, and the noise from the Hyenas was deafening. He stood and staggered two steps to the left before again falling on his face. The crowd went wild, and humiliation rolled over him in waves as he heard the zebra declare Speedy a winner with a knockout!

         “What?” His mind could not even grasp the idea that he had lost! Having no idea what had happened he skulked to the corner and tried to tune into the buzz that was lapping the crowd.

         “His whiskers?" The elephants trumpeted his disgrace to everyone in three miles who hadn’t been there. “Who knew if you clipped a cat’s whiskers they became dizzy and disoriented and couldn’t even stand?"

         Bits and pieces of his humiliation filtered to his brain. In less than thirty seconds the mouse had scurried up his back leg, down his back, over his mane and had snipped off his whiskers. From that point on it was over. He’d staggered around with the mouse biting through the skin between his paws, the tender parts of his belly; he’d never even known what hit him. The dizziness increased until he passed out colder than a wedge of ice! It was the most one-sided fight the crowd had ever seen. His shame surrounded him closer than his mane. He staggered drunkenly for his den. His only thought was escape.

         Clumsily, he tramped a zigzag pattern for the fridge and popped opened a cold “Buckweiser”. How could he ever look these animals in the face? Fact was, he couldn’t. He was cashing in and moving. His wife came harping through the door.

         The blisters on his ears grew bigger by the minute; she was really chewing him up. “Oh God, the money”...he inwardly groaned. She’d placed a side bet with all their savings? All was lost! He couldn't believe she was kicking him out!

         He had nowhere to go and no life skills to fall back on. God, if he couldn’t whip a mouse, what hope did he have? He slinked into the darkness never to return.

         He peeked out of the old abandoned wolf’s den. “What was that?” Was that “kill” in Spanish? He trembled at the thought others were stalking him. It had taken him three days of night travel to get here on the side of this road. If he hadn't met Barney he would have never survived out here alone. A kinder weasel you have never met. If Barney was to be believed, in two days a traveling band of a tin man, a scarecrow, a human chick, and a dog headed for Oz, were passing through here on a quest to meet some wizard who could give you anything you may be lacking. He needed courage like a baby needed milk. A pop sounded behind him and he could feel the urine trickle as he flinched waiting for a deathblow.

         Relief washed over him as he heard the tin man squeaking about needing some oil. He stepped out, “H-h-hello, I’m CL, the cowardly lion”.