Jungle King

 Time matters not. 

Unforgiving plateaus filled with desperate, vile creatures that kill without pause. Or cause. 

To violate greater or  lesser forms, wild or civil, is Fear. Those who fear living violate life. 

In the continent where Life was borne, jackals laugh, cheetahs run, hippos chew. The hooved graze in cautious shame, leaving their young and weak to seek mercy. 

I am from such a place. And I am Royalty. 

The harshest weather, the trinkets of humans inhumane, insects bearing disease have yet to put a significant dent on my lineage.  

You  categorize my indifference with a conscious act of distain or expressing a social distance of some sort. 

I have heard brave stories of my cousins who indulge their hunting “instincts” by giving their “masters” a wounded rodent  “trophy”, or getting between their owners and a deer or bobcat or wolf. 

But to those who perceive my actions as animal kingdom indifference can bite my testes if they could find them. 

I care not about those who think I act detached or - and this is almost cosmically funny - cause hypoallergenic reactions to some. 

You’re the people who call my offspring Pride. Your words. 

You may have your self-appointed kings or queens. But no one here but me is Regal. 

I may not be thee king, Elvis. 

But I am King of The Jungle. 

Have yourself a merry little Christmas. 

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To Frisky, Sweetie, Choko, and more. 

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