The Caged Lion

I hate this cage. They tricked me as I was going and coming but mostly resting in the shade right in the centre of my savannah. The womanfolk, as is the custom had gone out early to catch one of the new crop of gazelles, a change from wildebeest and desert dogs. As I was having this lovely dream about the female I had glimpsed the back of during the rains, those mothers with their Rovers came and brought the stench of diesel and that big net, flown in from Germany. I should have known, those Krauts are skilled and know just how to capture the attention of man and beast alike. I am the king, of course and strong beyond belief, and my agility is, to put it bluntly, legendary. But this was trickery, they dropped it from a height with such finesse and speed, it scared the creatures that I share the living space and home sweet home with. So here I am now, the sign says Frankfurt ZOO, I see a lot of monkeys, like Serengeti ants they stand and stare at those of us who live here now. I rest most of my days, and dream about the past, but I have found that even here the food is hunted and supplied by females happy to oblige, to serve. Just like it was at home. There is a difference, of course, there had to be, the meat is marked and labelled, in blue ink, though names like Sauerbraten, Hackepeter, Krautrouladen, Bauernschinken, Hasenpfeffer, Leberkäse do have a tendency to cause confusion. By now, my distant cousins in the Savannah, should this note arrive in time before the rains, I miss you all, but then again, life is okay, except for snow and the occasional five year old freckleboy who wants to play monkey with me. Visiting hours though, are quite precise, and five pm is time to snooze until the snack of Eisbein which is pickled hocks, but wait for this, the Sunday is, teutonically a holy day. We get, that is, only the lions Frankfurter Schokoladenpudding, with Vanillensosse, it is my favourite. I'm sending this down with the hunters, so must really close now, and Happy Hunting, girls.