01
I picked up the phone determined to make the call, hungry for justice. I forced out a deep puff of smoke and dialled the number before placing the receiving end of my mobile against my ear. After a high-pitched ping, a lady with an equally high-pitched, but cheery tone answered.
“Calgary Zoo. Kathy speaking.”
“Hello, I would like to lodge a complaint.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir. What may I ask is the reason?”
“Yes, well, I was at the zoo yesterday.” I paused to consider my phrasing. “I visited the lion exhibit.” The image of a matted, dopey grey house cat with stone-like azure eyes filled my mind. “One would assume that when they visit a lion exhibit, a lion would be present, like the MGM one, or the type you’d see in old circus flyers. You know, with a flowing mane of golden hair and all. Well, that’s not what I saw.” I paused momentarily for dramatic effect, before emphasizing my point, “No lion.”
Silence filled the air and I sensed Kathy mulling the situation.
“So, you say that when you came to the zoo and observed our lions, the enclosure was empty,” she clarified.
“I didn’t say the enclosure was empty; I said there was no lion. I came with the express purpose of seeing a lion, the same one I saw on the front page of the newspaper yesterday skulking through tall grass with its head swung down peering at the camera. Instead, what do I see? A dejected-looking wet ugly house cat!”
A deep, irascible sigh was audible through the phone. Subtle keyboard clicks filled the unsettling silence between us.
“Sir, is this a prank call because we really don’t have time—”
“No it’s not a prank call! I want reimbursement. This is false advertising. You can’t use promotional images of lions and lionesses on your posters, and bus ads, and TV commercials, and newsletters, and whatever, then place a tattered house cat in a lion pen the size of a mansion and expect people to be pleased.”
I observed myself speaking at an alarming pace and sensed a small fire heating my body from the inside. I couldn’t determine what fuelled my anger more, the fake-lion cat, or Kathy the zoo lady’s arrogant disposition.
“Sir, our zoo owns one lion, Aslan, and one lioness, Koji. Both animals were shipped from Hwange National Park in Zimbabwe when they were juveniles. I can assure you, they are lions, not cats.”
At this point, I was in quite the quandary—how to convince Kathy the zoo lady that what I saw was in fact a domestic cat. Was it? I began to feel insecure about my conviction. I had been sure. It was too small to be a lion. And it’s eyes. Sharp. Blue; like a Sapphire. But was Kathy mocking me? It began to dawn on me that I could have just entered myself into a psychological game of deception against a world-class jinx fixed by the Calgary Zoo to subliminally avert PR scandals and hypnotize the public. What did she stand to gain? What did she stand to lose? I carried on, masking my growing doubt; pride at stake.
“Tell you what, if I come back and I see a lion, we’re square. But if I come back and I see an ugly grey cat, then I expect reimbursement plus compensation for my time wasted, both whilst at the zoo and right now on this phone call.”
Some time lapsed while I eagerly awaited a response. I pictured the cat from the zoo in the corner of my living room, behind the big Ravenea plant, hunched over, shoulder blades up, staring at me with its deep blue eyes; penetrating.
“Okay”.
“Very well then. I’ll see you at the lion’s den tomorrow. Noon.”
"Okay,” Kathy echoed back, sounding unconvinced.