Appreciation.

             Every evening little Richard takes a stroll over the circus grounds where he lives. He couldn’t go home - the colorful caravan right from the pony stables -because his father was there with one of the funny-looking Siamese ladies he sees so often nowadays. So, just like his dad, Richard is now having some “private time” of his own.

            His father is a lion tamer. He looks like a lion himself, too - to Richard, at least. He doesn’t get to see nor talk to him that often, so during this stroll, his feet almost automatically carried him to the lion cages. Being exposed to them from a tender age, Richard didn’t wince at the deep growls and piercing cat eyes that aimed at him the moment he stepped into the tent. Passing the hall of bars, he made his way to the very back – the one belonging to the pride and king lion of the circus.

            “Evening, Mustafa,” said Richard, bowing to the pair of eyes that slyly moved down from Richard’s tennis shoes up to his brown ruffled hair. As usual the lion responded with a low moan of recognition and slowly crept towards the cage door. His mighty main was stroked back and forth by Richard’s small hands, causing him to purr with delight. He was rather cuddly this evening – he even reflected Richard’s movements when he made a few steps towards the meat bucket. Yet without such a nutritious treat Mustafa continued to purr. The increasing loudness and frequency of his pleasure soon resulted in the lions of the neighbouring cages growling in annoyance. In his euphoria however, Mustafa was unstoppable, purring louder and louder as Richard continued to happily stroke his main. There and back, back and here. His hand literally couldn’t stop; never before was he this much appreciated! Not when he bought new flowers to his mother’s grave, nor when he got himself to school alone - or did anything of that sort when his father’s long taming shift made him forget familial duties.

            Lost in his thoughts, his stroke hardened and fastened, without noticing that the lion’s purr metamorphosed into a violent roar. Richard screamed; the lion furiously trapped his hand into its jaw, the teeth grinding the little hand with the yet undeveloped muscles and bones with immense force. Blood streamed out of the newly-created holes in the palm... He couldn’t pull away!

            “What is going on here?!” the lion tamer shouted in horror, suddenly appearing in the tent. He ran towards the last cage where the child’s freshly spilled blood glittered in the dark. With a single pinch behind the ears the enraged beast let go of the weeping child.

            “What were you thinking, doing that?” the tamer exclaimed in disbelief and anger at the shaking boy who was staring at his injured hand. A moment of silence followed, and right after wiping off the teardrops on his cheeks, Richard softly replied,- 

              “He appreciated me.”