Page 44 - Fables volume 2
P. 44

Sparrow and Cougar


          Cougar  psychotically  paced  the  width  of  his  cage  in  tight  figure
        eights during business hours. He had no choice: his private enclosure
        was  opened  and  raw  meat  tossed  in  only  after  the  last  tourist  had
        been siphoned through the zoo’s gift shop en route to the parking
        lot. Each turn raked his gaze across the assembled gawkers, a mix of
        bipeds  hiding  their  terror  behind  rigid  fascination  and  animated
        jeering. For most he had no second glance; only the small ones, the
        size of easy prey, merited a fleeting flicker of interest. Then it was
        back to padding back and forth, a lap swimmer in time without end.
          One  morning,  as  he  exited  from  his  private  apartment  into  the
        public domain a few minutes before his tormentors arrived, he heard
        a shrill piping voice overhead call his name.
          “Cougar! Let’s talk: I have a proposition to make.”
          He glanced up. A sparrow perched on the chain link roof of the
        cage met his gaze. It flapped its wings and again trilled for attention.
          The mountain lion feigned deafness. “Come down here, where I
        can hear you better.”
          “Ha! Not until we have a deal. I don’t want you using my beak for
        a toothpick.”
          Cougar  growled,  without  amusement.  “Then  get  out  of  here.  I
        don’t need you rubbing it in my face that you can come in here and I
        can’t go out there.”
          “No, no, no!” Sparrow was adamant. “I’m not here to tease you
        like those overfed idiots do from morning to evening. I’ve got a plan:
        we can help each other.”
          “You? A paltry nitwit scavenger help me?” He rolled over, slapped
        his tail and scratched at whatever insect was heading for his ear canal.
        “You couldn’t lift the key to this cage. Ten of you couldn’t.”
          The  little  bird  jumped  to  a  steel  crossbar  closer  to  her  audience
        rubbing its back on the concrete floor below.
          “First of all, don’t underestimate me. I’m an omnivorous predator:
        I’d prefer to eat live bugs than the junk food scraps scattered all over
        this place. But the management has been eradicating them. Anyway,
        that brings me to my point: you are pestered by fleas, ticks and mites.

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