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Born July 3rd 2024
This litter brought a small surprise: a cub that is different to normal lion cubs. Upon questioning - in fear of being chased or killed - the lioness admits to a mating with an escaped jaguar when she was in heat... The cub is a hybrid! What will you do now!?
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First heat one Jag(sold)
Second heat one Jag(kept)
Third heat fail
Fourth heat fail
Fifth heat fail
sixth heat
seventh heat
eighth heat
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7/8
Catrine approaches you during a nap and starts kneading your shoulders. Aahhhh. Awesome day.
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7/30
You lie out under the stars, paws in the air. Catrine came by to join you. You both have fun watching the lights and chatting about nothing in particular.
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8/12
You came back from a territorial dispute feeling stressed. Catrine bumped shoulders with you and offered to hang out and share a meal by the pond. You relaxed as she told you a funny story of that day.
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8/15
You came back from a territorial dispute feeling stressed. Catrine bumped shoulders with you and offered to hang out and share a meal by the pond. You relaxed as she told you a funny story of that day.
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9/24
Catrine is relaxing near the back of the den, lazily pawing at you in greeting as you pass. She offers you to join her for a while and chill.
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Every now and then, I think of him– my father, who traveled across the glistening turquoise seas in a cramped metal crate. His name is Mateo and my mother’s name is Demew. She tells me he was charming, quick-witted, and confident. He had quite the sense of humor and enjoyed playing pranks on his friends. He took good care of them, though: the other jaguars. He took good care of me, too, while he was with us. I must be one of hundreds. We’re a strange, mottled, water-loving bunch. Lions don’t tend to go near the water, but I love the feeling of waves crashing against my fur. The acrid, salty scent of the surf reminds me of who I am and where I come from. My father and I used to paddle around together. We’d dive for shiny rocks, plucking them from the sand as if they were precious treasures. “How very jaguar of you,” my mother beamed when I came back to the den soaked to the bone. She’s glad that I get to carry a piece of Mateo with me wherever I go.
I’m mostly all right with the fact that he left us. He had to go. The choice was between our little family and his entire group of jaguars. They needed a leader. Nobody else could really handle the job. Mateo’s like King Kendall in that way. He must have cared about me, since he gave me a present: a bright purple bow he snagged from one of the humans’ pockets.“Purple suits you. Like royalty!” he told me as he tied it tight around my tail. We played on the beach one last time before he disappeared into the jungle, the camouflage of his spots causing him to fade that much faster. I still remember how he smelled: like salt and mangoes.
Mama says I’m much better at hunting in the water than all the other lions in the pride. King Kendall even mentioned how impressed he was with my skills. I’ve taken down an entire water buffalo all by myself. When I showed the other huntresses, they cheered enthusiastically and started calling me “Shark.” One of them even gave me a shark’s tooth to commemorate the event. Everyone ate well that night. Some of the cubs asked if I could teach them how to swim. I promised them I would. It’ll be nice to pass down my father’s legacy to some younger members of the pride.
Sometimes other lions struggle to find me when they’re looking for me. They’re not really used to looking up. I tend to nap in trees when it’s hot out or when I don’t feel like being disturbed. The rough branches twist together to form cradles in the canopies. Leaves offer shade and concealment as the wind rocks me gently to sleep. The cubs have lots of questions about my tree naps.
“How do you stay up there without falling down?”
“How can you climb so high?”
“Are you scared of falling in your sleep?”
“What if you break your leg?”
I simply laugh and reassure them that it’s all right. Jaguars do it all the time. Besides, it’s easier to see the stars this way. I know the names of all the constellations– both what my mother calls them and what Mateo would call them. They have different names in different parts of the world. I like to think that sometimes, my father and I are looking at the sky at the same time, thinking about one another.
My father taught me how to be unique and adventurous, but it was my mother who taught me how to be kind. She’d look at me with her sparkling navy blue eyes and tell me stories about lions who won the day not because of their physical strength but because of their hearts. King Kendall is a constant feature in her tales.
“Do you know why he is beloved by our pride, sweetling?” she’d ask.
“Because he protects us?”
“Not only that, but he loves us, cares for us, and leads with his heart. This is far more important than being powerful. Do you understand?”
“Yes, mama.”
I understood then what she was trying to tell me and I understand now. Lions who try to bully their way to power through fear and arrogance are secretly very weak. They will never have their pride’s trust, nor their admiration. Any alliances they make are fraught and tenuous. I’m not a leader, but I still strive to be gentle and kind. I want to be useful. I want to help. It was wonderful of the other lions to accept me, even though my father isn’t from our pride. I want to extend the same generosity towards them and make sure they always have everything they need. I think it’s especially important to take good care of our pride’s elders. They’ve seen so much. I can’t even begin to fathom what they’ve been through. I love chatting with them for hours and listening to their stories. Some of them have funny anecdotes about what King Kendall was like when he was young, but my favorites are the tales about my mother. She always laughs them off but I’m proud that every recount of her cubhood refers to her magnanimous personality. The best story is the one about the wingless beetle. Apparently when my mother was only a few months old, she stumbled across a beetle that didn’t have any wings. All the other cubs didn’t want to take care of it because they figured it would go hungry and die. My mother took one look at the struggling creature and decided she’d found her new pet. She fed the creature by paw, snuggling next to it at night and following it around by day to make sure it didn’t get into any trouble. She named it ‘Buddy.’ Buddy lived to be a year old, which is very rare for an insect. The elders claim it was her love and care that kept it alive for so long.
If this is true, I am going to live to be over a hundred. I am from a legacy of love. Mateo loved my mother and both of them love me. One day, when I have cubs of my own, I will teach them how to carry on this love into the next generation, and the next, and the next.
-bio written by 474561 based on my idea
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