Betty and Juma Mnyama worked quietly and efficiently together once again. She held his medical bag and soothed those fearing injections. They took tea breaks with Mildred and Lisa when needed. The group ate an early meal together, with drinks indecorously poured in tin cups but none the less relaxing. Nights, the group was dead tired and slept in their tents owned by the government and appropriated by Shane for the AIDS workers. Betty had her cell phone turned on at the request of her husband. Shane called each night as she first got to an early bed. He was tender, loving and wanting her home.

Shane occupied his lonely bed the nights Betty was away. His sleep came uneasily without her by his side. When he slept, he dreamed of Catherine’s fur and the feel of its sleekness against his body when they had slept side by side before her death. He would awaken suddenly still seeing her dark eyes before him suspended in the deep shadows of the room. He would awaken startled by a perceived whispering in his ear, sounding like his late wife. He had been warned to limit his cigarette consumption due to his chronic ulcers. In the inky blackness of the African night, he would sit at his open bedroom window, smoking and listening for the comforting sounds of the Masai as they began the day.

With little sleep, he walked his weary way from the mansion to the State House. He entered his office, saying good morning as usual to his secretary and me. I detected a certain haggard aspect to the young lion president. I took him his morning papers and asked if everything was well with him. He told me of his sleeplessness since Betty had been gone. We laughed a bit at that sign of marital habituation. I left his office and puttered in my own. Just a short time after that, I heard the thud. I ran to the door joining our offices and found Shane Simba lying on the floor and out cold. I rang the bell that summoned the guards and State House personnel. I called the hot line to the Exotic Animal Clinic that tells them the president is in trouble. An ambulance was sent immediately. Caroline Cheetah came and knelt beside him in a very efficient manner – very cool under pressure. The ambulance arrived with two paramedics and an intern. They got him inside and drove off, sirens blaring. I rode with his driver and Sloane Simba in the official Rolls to the clinic. Word, as it will, had gotten out. Daniel Lyon, as vice president, manned the State House. The scene was progressive pandemonium. I shoved my way through the masses of media with help from Masai spears. I made the call to phone Betty’s cell phone. I stayed on the line for a bit. She finally answered engulfed in a scratchy connection due probably to a failing battery.

“Betty, you have to come home,” I shouted through the static. “Shane is sick again.”

It didn’t take long for her, even with the difficult connection to discern that the love of her entire life was in bad shape. She screamed through the phone that she would be there – pronto.

It seemed an eternity that Sloane and I lingered in a special waiting room. Caroline Cheetah joined us. She seemed to be close to Sloane. He kept patting her knee in a distracted manner. There were many outside the special room but Sloane held at bay those that weren’t essential to Shane’s existence. His children were brought. Caroline helped keep them at ease. In a time span that seemed eternal, we waited there. At last, Dr. Frank Tigeres came and allowed us into his suite where he lay in the bed very comfortably with an IV in his arm. One could easily see that blood was being put into Shane. He seemed slightly sedated. Caroline stood to the back of the room as his children crushed toward his bed. Sloane and I stood near and allowed his frightened offspring their time with him. The door opened to Lachlan holding his clip board. He acknowledged us but went immediately to Shane’s side. They chatted pleasantly with Lachlan reminding him that they needed to keep all of their appointments. Shane readily acknowledged his need for the psychiatrist. Frank Tigeres took me aside and into the hall.

“Maurice, this is a very critical thing,” he said with gravity in his voice. “He is not healing well. Those ulcers still fester. He needs to be completely at ease in his life even if it means giving up the presidency. For Shane, it’s a matter of life and death for him to remain peaceful and watch his diet and habits.”

I was slightly overwhelmed by the gravitas of the situation. “Frank, Betty will be here soon. Will you tell her these things?”

“Of course I will, Maurice, I’ll shout them to the roof.”

Betty had felt the plane would never get to the Mara soon enough. Finally, after what seemed like excessive amounts of time, the small aircraft landed in the Mara. A limousine was waiting on the tarmac and carried her to the clinic and her ill husband. I think I was dozing in a chair when she came in. I know Shane was sleeping. He was filled with morphine. She went to his bedside and took his paw in her hand.

“Darling, what did you do? How did you get so sick so soon?” she said, kissing his face all over.

“I guess I must have languished for you, Fifi. I missed you and didn’t sleep well while you were gone,” he murmured with a slight slur in his diction.

She stayed with him the rest of the night, the staff placing a very nice bed in his suite. The president gets such privilege. I left and went to my home to be met by Lachlan, offering a bowl of oyster stew that still steamed. I was so grateful to have it and him in my life. I sat down and he handed me a cognac. He sat beside me.

“How do you have the energy to work so hard and still find time to pamper me?” I asked.

“It’s a pleasure, Maurice. You have a row to how ahead of you. Shane is very ill and will not get better until he can resolve his inner conflicts.”

“Do you think he needs to resign?”

“No, that won’t really help. It’s not the government of Kenya that is his problem. It’s his personal demons that haunt him. Giving up the presidency won’t do a thing for him. I am glad Betty is in his life. She loves him enough to muddle through it with him but he is a very tough nut to crack, Maurice.”

I stood up and went to the fireplace where a small fire had been laid by Lachlan and crackled in a comforting manner. Suddenly I shuddered at the memory of another schizzed out animal that had suffered heart trouble but refused to remedy his problems and his life and died as a result – my former lover, Lawrence Leoparde.

“He reminds me of Lawrence, Lachlan. Lawrence killed himself by refusing to adhere to any restrictions. Do you think Shane is doomed to the same?”

“No, I knew Lawrence rather well. I think Shane Simba is a type that is not hell bent on destruction, just misguided. Lawrence was a much darker soul. Shane is young and conflicted. He recently lost his wife and the mother of his children, probably married in haste, has a god awful libido and needs to mellow out. He probably carries a shit load of guilt to boot. And now he has Kenya on his shoulders.”

“As bad as that sounds, it makes me feel better,” I giggled.

“It should. Now eat your stew so we can tend our own romantic inclinations.”

Shane stayed in the hospital for several days getting transfusions of blood, good doctoring and the services of Dr. Lachlan Lion, psychiatrist par excellence. He also had twenty four/seven attentions from his wife and children. He was allowed home with enforced bed rest for a week. Betty made sure he didn’t cheat on his orders. The fortunate thing was his proximity (only a few steps) from his office in the State House. Another asset was a top notch vice president in Daniel Lyon and big help in his half-brother, Sloane who carried an important ministry on his young shoulders. Between these factors, Shane got much better. His children flocked around him in the evening as did Betty. He was forced in to glasses of iced Perrier with lime slivers. He was allowed one cigarette with his evening water. Nevertheless, according to Frank Tigeres, the major factor in his recovery was peace of mind. Frank and Lachlan worked together on this issue. My Lachlan held the key to his psyche.

“The way I see it, Shane, is that you scout out a female that you want, get all wound up about her and your stomach goes south. Am I close?”

They were in his bedroom. It was dimly lit and Lachlan sat on a chair near the bed.

“You really are,” he chuckled in a humorless way. “I guess it’s the guilt when I want a female. Guilt over what my wife will suffer.”

“Would you be better off single?”

“I don’t think so. I love my kids and a home life.”

“You haven’t said you love your wife. Just your kids and the home which I am assuming your wife creates for you.”

“I love Betty, Lachlan. I really do. I was miserable without her.”

Lachlan sensed a bit of desperation coming on so he decided to close for the evening rather than add angst to Shane’s already troubled stomach.

Shane and Betty in their room......

Caitlin Cougar sat in her hospital room admiring her newborn son. He was healthy despite his premature birth. He remained in the nursery in an incubator just seeing his mother while nursing. He suckled strongly and she sang lullabies to him as he fed. She had named him Carlin Bernard Simba for her father and much loved uncle. She looked up to see Steven in the door with a bouquet of lovely flowers. She patted the bed and he seated himself peeking at his son who was making loud sucking noises as he attacked Caitlin’s milk laden teat.

“He seems quite healthy despite his early birth,” said Steven.

“Isn’t he marvelous, Steve?” cooed Caitlin. “Come here, Carlin. You’re finished now.”

She put the cub to her shoulder and burped him.

“What did you call him? I didn’t catch the name,” asked Steven.

“His name is Carlin Bernard Simba. I named him for my dad and uncle.”

“Oh…nice. You couldn’t have waited for me to put my two cents worth in? After all I offered to marry you. I notice you stuck the Simba on there.”

“That name will serve him well with Shane as the president.”

“Well, that’s hunky dory, Caitlin. I will establish what you need as child support but it is obvious that I will not be playing a role in his life.”

“You know, Steve, that I adore the concept of single motherhood these days.”

He got up hastily, grabbed the bouquet, threw it in the trash can and made his exit. Instead of seeking the company of Dina or Cameron, he chose to get totally shit faced in the Watering Hole Pub. Wally Warthog had his son walk him to his condo nearby.

Sloane walked to Caitlin’s front door. He was holding his daughter, Georgy. A maid opened. Caitlin was on her bed, having just left the clinic earlier that afternoon. Her new son lay in a blanket next to her. Sloane put Georgy on the bed with her mother. He took a quick look at the new cub, pronounced it cute and was about to leave.

“Sloane, I don’t know what’s wrong with Steve. He visited me at the hospital and when I told him I had already named the baby, he got pissed.”

“What did you name him, Caitlin?”

“His name is Carlin Bernard Simba, after my dad and uncle. I think that’s a pretty name.”

“Did you even think that Steve might like to have a toss at naming his new cub? You can be terribly oblique, Caitlin.”

“I am a single mother and like being that way, Sloane. I don’t need you males to help me with my children.”

“Well you needed me for keeping Georgy and Steve took you to the clinic so you are not one hundred percent independent. I don’t blame him with your attitude, Caitlin. He offered to marry you.”

“I just like for the fathers to be part of the lives of my offspring.”

“You can’t have your cake and eat it too. I happen to be involved with Georgy because I love her and was married to you but if I was Steve, I wouldn’t get attached to this kid and have my heart broken.”

“Oooooh, you Simba males are so stubborn,” she snarled.

“That, we are,” he laughed and with a wave of his paw, left.

Caitlin Cougar and new born son, Carlin Bernard Simba.....

Betty locked the door to their bedroom. Shane was lying on the bed in a pair of tailored pajamas that she had hastily purchased since he couldn’t sleep nude as was his habit. Aides and staff went back and forth from the State House with business matters which necessitated him being clothed modestly. She sat on the side of the bed. She was ready for a heartfelt talk with her husband.

“Shane, darling, we must get to the bottom of why you are so conflicted that it keeps affecting your health. If I am the problem I need to know.”

“Yes, Fifi, you’re the problem. You weren’t here. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Shane, it is much more convoluted than this. I sensed you slipping away when you were seeing Dina. Lately I sensed it again but don’t know who she is.”

“She is absolutely no one, Betty. I just seem to be having a rough time of it lately is all.”

“Is it the presidency?”

“No, I like that. It’s nothing, Betty. I just smoked a lot while you were gone and couldn’t sleep.”

Betty sighed and leaned into him.

“Did you lock the door, Fifi?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said, rolling over and kissing her.

“Who excited you more, Catherine or Betty?” asked Lachlan, writing away on his pad.

He was in Shane’s room trying to get to the bottom of the young lion’s torment.

“Oh, that’s a bad trick question, Lachlan. Do I have to answer?”

“Yes. I’m your shrink and everything you say stays with me. So it is important that you answer.”

Shane gazed out the window for a few minutes before answering.

“Cathy excited me the most. There was something about her that made my damn toes tingle. I love Betty’s mind and she has a great body but her stimulation level is not the same as Catherine’s with me.”

“Okay, next question and it won’t be pretty. I noticed that Caroline Cheetah, who is a dead ringer for her sister Catherine, is the anchor now. Is she the one punching your buttons emotionally?”

Shane made a move to get out of bed. Lachlan raised a paw.

“No, Shane, sit still. I really need you to think about this and answer it. Remember, it is all totally confidential.”

“I look at her and see the long legs and body like Catherine’s. Then she will turn around and her face is the same.”

“Then she needs to go. You can call Irving Impala and get her out of here, Shane.”

“But she’s doing a super job, Lachlan. It wouldn’t be fair of me to have her taken off the post. She really smoothes my path as far as press conferences go. She’s like Cathy, a mind like a steel trap and efficient as hell.”

“You’ve already knocked her up, Shane. You’re playing with fire. You know that. She will trick you again or maybe she won’t even have to.”

“I can’t get her in trouble with Irving Impala, Lachlan. That is out of the question.”

Lachlan placed his notepad in his briefcase and snapped it shut. He stood up to go.

“Shane, you are one of the most difficult animals to help I have ever encountered. Your problem is that your stomach must be directly connected to your dick. If you don’t get laid by the chick of your choice, your ulcers pop open again. You’re the emperor of immediate gratification and don’t understand the word restraint. I’m at my wit’s end and may toss you to Gus Leo, my colleague. Maybe he will understand you.”

“Sit down, Lachlan. Don’t go. I know I need help and only you can do it.”

“Which part of the phrase ‘self control’ don’t you understand? You’re an adult male and one of tremendous accomplishment. Can’t you say no to sex with outside females? You have a wonderful wife who loves you far more than you deserve. Go with the flow and stop agonizing over every piece of strange pussy you might miss. Next time, we’ll explore your youth again. Maybe the key is there. I bid you good day.”

Lachlan was gone without another word. When he had departed, Shane fell back on the pillow and sighed. If anyone had a bead on him, it was Lachlan.

Lachlan entered the break room at the Mental Health Center. Dr. Gus Leo was there with a cup of steaming coffee. Lachlan sat down with him.

“Gus, can I turn Shane Simba over to you?” he laughed.

Gus leaned back in his chair and stuck both paws out defensively. “No sir, not that dude. I want no part of getting into his soul.”