Animalworld

The three lions stretched out lazily under the tree, enjoying its shade from the midday sun. Moggo looked across the river, from the comfort of his leather bench, to the other side of the valley, where the other animals were having lunch together.

            ‘You know,’ said Moggo, ‘I don’t think this is working for us. We’re supposed to be Kings of the Jungle, but we just don’t get the respect these days.’

            ‘Well, what do you expect?’ said Farrago. ‘They’re letting anyone in these days. Do you know, I was over there a few days ago and they’d let in penguins! I mean to say, penguins! What’s Animalworld coming to if they’ve started to let in penguins?’

            ‘And an aardvark,’ said Moggo. ‘I distinctly saw a couple of aardvarks there last Thursday. It’s just not good enough.’ He shook his head sadly, ‘I mean where’s the fear, the terror, the conflict? They just seem to be…’ he spat out the words, ‘…getting on with each other. It’s disgusting. It’s just not lion.’

            Bodjo, the largest lion, lifted his head and stopped trying to remember how many lion cubs he’d fathered through the years. ‘Fellow lions,’ he said, ‘I think it’s time to leave. Remember, we only joined Animalworld because we thought, being lions, the rest of that rabble would naturally defer to us and we could run the place, but sadly it’s not worked out like that. They seem to be quite happy with what they’re doing. I’m not even sure…’ he lowered his voice, ‘…that they even need us.’

            ‘You’re right,’ said Farrago, ‘Let’s go. I never liked it here anyway. All their silly rules about equality, community and shared resources. Definitely not lion. So Bodjo, will you tell them we’re off, or shall I?’

            ‘Oh, I’ll tell ‘em,’ said Bodjo. ‘Don’t you worry about that.’ And he let out a roar that reminded the lions that they were still Kings of the Jungle, and would have been heard across the river on the other side of the valley, were not the other animals, by that time, busy tucking into their puddings.

            The next three years were busy times for the lions, as they hatched their plan for leaving Animalworld. The difficulty was that they couldn’t actually agree on what they wanted to leave. Farrago insisted that his Animalworld expense account needn’t be closed. Moggo wanted to take his nanny with him (well, she had been in his family for many years), and Bodjo, well, Bodjo would never have admitted it to anyone but frankly, he did like the puddings.

            Anyway, after three years they’d more or less sorted out their Withdrawal Plan, and Bodjo set off across the river to deliver it to the Animalworld Council. He knew it was going to be a difficult meeting because, obviously, they were lions, and would of course bring a certain prestige to the Council, so the Council, obviously, wouldn’t want them to go and would doubtless attempt a number of wily stratagems – as one might expect from the lower orders – to persuade them to stay.  In the event, he came back rather quickly.

            ‘You’re back rather quickly,’ said Moggo.

            ‘Um yes, I suppose I am,’ said Bodjo.

            ‘I expect you gave them what for,’ said Moggo.

            ‘Um yes, well, something like that,’ said Bodjo.

            ‘Come on,’ said Farrago. ‘You can tell us. What really happened?’

            ‘Well,’ said Bodjo, ‘After a bit of introductory roaring, I told them that we were off, and what our demands were for them to let us go. I told them we were going to Take Back Contrails.’

            ‘Take back contrails?’ said Farrago. ‘What on earth does that mean?’

            ‘I don’t know,’ said Bodjo. ‘I thought it sounded sort of technical and environmental.’

            ‘I expect they made lots of concessions to persuade us to stay didn’t they?’ said Moggo.

            ‘Not exactly,’ said Bodjo. ‘That French barn owl, who seems to be their Chief Negotiator, just stood up and said, “Eff Off then, as quick as you like. You’ve always been a pain in the ass, with your grumbling, your demands and your opt outs, and we’re better off without you,”.’

            ‘No!’ said Moggo, genuinely shocked. ‘Did they really?’

            ‘Never mind that now,’ said Farrago. ‘Let’s pack our bags and be off. The new world order awaits. Tomorrow’s sun will rise on the new Century of Lion.’

            And so they did. Out through the main gate and, with a confident stride, off across the desert. Some weeks later, and feeling rather hungry from a meagre diet of worms, cockroaches and scorpions, they arrived at a mighty fence, guarded by razor wire, watchtowers and some very large buffalo holding very large guns. A rather garish sign said, ‘Make Buffalo Great Again!’

            ‘Hold it right there,’ said the first buffalo. ‘Show me your papers.’

            ‘We don’t need papers,’ said Moggo, perhaps a little overconfidently in the circumstances. ‘We’re lions, you know, Kings of the Jungle. We’ve come to join you and set up some mutually beneficial freetrade arrangements. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours, you know, that sort of thing.’

            ‘No papers?’ said the first buffalo. ‘OK, up against the wall. Now.’

            The sight of several very large guns pointing at them encouraged the lions to comply with the buffalo’s request. They were duly searched before being allowed to step down again.

            ‘Now look here,’ said Bodjo to the buffalo. ‘Let’s not be precipitate. Remember, we’re lions. Think of our breeding. Think of all we can do for you.’

            One of the buffalo was heard to suppress a snigger.

            ‘Oh yeah,’ said the first buffalo. ‘So what can you do for us?’

            ‘Well,’ said Bodjo, ‘we could tell you stories about our past glories.’

            ‘Is that it?’ said the first buffalo.

            The lions looked embarrassed.

            ‘Well, um, yes, that’s probably about it,’ said Moggo who, to be fair, was missing his nanny.

            ‘Jake,’ called the first buffalo, ‘get the meat waggon. OK you three, get on the bus. You want to do something for us? We’ve got some chickens that need washing. It’s a green wash. Very environmental. OK Jake, ship ‘em out.’

Next day the three lions were up to their elbows in chlorinated water, washing chicken carcasses.

            ‘You know, Bodjo, I didn’t think it would be like this,’ said Moggo.

            ‘Damn,’ said Farrago, ‘my platinum card’s been cancelled.’

            Bodjo looked up from his chicken. ‘Hmm,’ he said, thoughtfully, ‘I wonder if we’ve made a mistake?’