How to exit a restaurant if you are a jungle cat

I had enough time to write another short episode for my fake novel BRYAN THE TYGER. All my heroes do in this one is leave the place where they just finished dining.

[I got tired of graffiti-ing tygers onto junk ads, so, for the next few days, the obligatory images that accompany these announcements will be just lazy attempts at hand-drawing copies of ad photos with felt tip marker.]

P.S.

In other news: my Public Private Diary is fully printed; also I made a list of my latest novels that have been printed but not included in any collection.

Chapter Forty-Two

Then, as I hinted earlier, trouble befalls us when the owners of the establishment appear. (By “us” I mean me and my soul-mate: you will recall that I am Bryan the Burning Tyger, and she is Myala the Glowing Black Panther.) Here’s what happens:

As soon as we finish eating, the saloon doors that lead into the kitchen’s prep area swing open, and the steakhouse’s owners step in: it is a pair of Orangutans; my guess is that they’re husband and wife. They are gobsmacked by the sight of us radiant mutants occupying this part of their precious restaurant, which should remain clean and sanitary. Myala and I are sprawled next to two enormous rib-cages that look like they could belong to brontosauruses, but they’re really just the remains of big bovines; and all these bones have been cleaned of their meat. We felines are lying there, licking our paws.

“What’s this?” screams one of the owners. “Giant cats!?”

“Get out of here!” screams the other owner: “Shoo!”

This second owner steps forth cautiously while waving her arms at us in a way that means “Leave the building, now!”

At this point, Jim Johnson, the friendly Chef who first let us in, casually enters the room; then stops and murmurs: “Uh-oh.”

“Jim!” I say, while Myala and I are heading for the back door. “Thanks so much for the high-quality meat! We’ll surely remember you with affection. Henceforward, our relation to you shall resemble that famous fable: the one about the Tyger who becomes eternally grateful to a humane Chef from a local Diner after this Chef removes a thorn from the Tyger’s paw.”

Myala corrects me: “The being in the folktale that you’re thinking of was actually a Panther, not a Tyger.”

I stop while halfway out the exit and say: “No . . . no, I’m pretty sure he was a Tyger. It’s that well-known story by Aesop—”

“Yeah,” sez Myala, “its very title proves me correct: Androcles and the Black Panther.”

I now turn to Jim Johnson the Chef, hoping that he’ll contradict Myala and back me up. (Incidentally, in the background throughout this scene, the owners of the restaurant continue to scream at us to leave.)

Jim nods apologetically: “Myala’s right.”

I hang my head and sport a puzzled look for a sec. Then I regain my cheerfully ferocious demeanor and address our pal Jim the Chef:

“Well, whatever Mister Aesop actually wrote, it doesn’t alter the intensity of our esteem for you, Jim Johnson — we really cherish what you did for us this evening, by allowing us to enter the kitchen thru the ‘Employees Only’ door and devour two full carcasses without having to cook them. We just hope that this doesn’t leave you in hot water with your employers there.” And I tilt my head, indicating the owners.

“Oh, they’ll get over it,” sez Jim J. “They’re just hypersensitive about losing profit, so they frown upon me letting stray creatures raid their kitch­en, as this prevents them from selling that meat to potential customers. But they’ll just reimburse themselves for the loss by garnishing my next few paychecks.”

Hearing this, I stop short: “Wait . . . what!? Do you mean to say that this is all just a matter of money?” – I now take out my cat purse and loosen the drawstring: “How much do you think should cover it?”

Jim’s eyes widen at the sight of my stash of caesars.

I turn the purse over and shake it, thus dumping an amount of cash in a heap upon the ground. Immediately we notice that the angry Orangutan background-screeching goes silent.

When the pile is about waist-high before Jim the Chef, I flip the purse upright: “Is that enough?”

Jim looks back and forth between us jungle cats and the mountain of banknotes. Then, while furtively jabbing his thumb to indicate the steakhouse owners behind him, he whispers: “All this pair of pinchpennies wanted was the price of two carcasses; but what you heaped here is enough to buy every cattle farm in the galaxy!”

I exhale in relief: “Ah, good. Then just repay those Apes for our feast, and keep the change for yourself.”