Murderous Cats Under The (Indianapolis) Stars

Zuri, what the fuck?

“Pardon?”

You killed Nyack.

“What’s a Nyack?”

Your husband. The father of your cubs. The male lion you recently murdered.

“Ohhh. Yeah, I killed him.”

Why?

“Couldn’t take it any more. He was a nightmare. Gambled.”

He didn’t gamble.

“He was a degenerate and a lowlife. He would bet on horse races, and if the horses lost he would eat the horses. Or if they won. Just a lowlife.”

None of this is even possible.

“Let me ask you a question: is the incident captured on video?”

Oh, yes.

“Huh. That narrows down my range of explanations. Would you believe that Nyack started the fight and then fell onto a bone saw?”

No, and that is in terrible taste.

“Not as terrible as Nyack. Lions aren’t delicious. Speaking of which: you wouldn’t happen to have an antelope on you?”

I do not.

“Next time you visit, bring an antelope.”

Why did you murder your husband, the father of your three cubs, whom you had spent eight years in peace with?

“Temporary insanity.”

No.

“I went to swat a fly, but I stumbled and oops I ate half his head.”

Wow, no.

“Hey, whattya want from me?”

Answers, dammit!

“If you yell at me again, I will literally eat you.”

Sorry.

“I’ll lick your skin off.

Please do not.

“You wanna know why I killed him?”

Yes.

“Well, you’ll never know. Ever. My brain’s alien enough to yours that my reasoning is incomprehensible. I based a good deal of my decision on smell. Can you understand that?”

I have based decisions on smells.

“I’m not talking about whether to buy fried dough. I’m talking about whether or not to murder your mate.”

Oh, no, not really.

“You should read What Is It Like To Be A Bat. Says it much better than I can.”

How are you linking to philosophical essays?

“Our minds are non-intertranslatable.”

That is not a word.

“And so why explain away my motives when you can’t possibly understand them? Number two: fuck all y’all.”

Now, by “all y’all,” you mean…?

“Humanity.”

Sure.

“I’m in Indianapolis. I’m from Denver. Which wouldn’t be a problem were it not for the fact that I’m a lion. I want you to be honest with me. The keepers are lying bitches, especially the little Jewish girl–”

Unnecessary.

“–and they tell me lies. I want you to be honest with me.”

Okay, okay.

“Or I’ll eat you.”

Get on with it.

“Being in a little enclosure and getting driven around in vans and fed by whiny Jewish girls–”

Don’t need to mention that.

“–and tranquilized every year or so…that isn’t the normal state of affairs for a lion, is it?”

It is not.

“I KNEW IT!”

Yeah, you were raised in captivity, huh?

“Captive as shit.”

You weren’t supposed to be.

“I KNEW IT!”

The zookeepers really lied to you about this?

“All of them! The Jewish one–”

Not gonna tell you again.

“–said that there had been a virus that killed off all the lions except me and Nyack and the cubs. Humans have always lied to me. When I was a cub, the humans told me I was really an ugly baby. Are lions supposed to feed from a bottle?”

Nope.

“While cradled in a celebrity’s lap?”

Also no. Who?

“Lisa Kudrow.”

Nice. But no.

“They gaslighted me!”

Lions should be out on the savanna fucking up gazelles and impalas and various other ungulates.

“The savanna.”

Broad. Grassy. Seasonal drought and growth that leads to the world’s largest migration.

“Y’don’t say.”

Wildebeests.

“I would like to have seen that.”

And you pick off wildebeests the whole way, and then you eat them in front of the rest of their herd.

“That’s a damned power move. I could’ve been doing that? Someone play the Star-Spangled Banner so I can kneel.”

Let’s not get into that.

“I am slave trapped within a colonialist and speciesist system designed to keep me down.”

Kinda. Sorry.

“You turned me into an animal and you wonder why I kill.”

Deep.

“C’mere.”

Sorry.