Taming the beast

As I walked out of A ward last night to get something down the hall, I was attacked by an African lion. He was lying in wait just outside the door, and silently watched me walk a few yards away. I heard a growl and turned to see the fearsome pink head, scalloped edging, and a smile drawn on with red crayon. Pawing the air, he rushed me. Not easily daunted, I turned to face him head on, crouching down low.

His casted arm carefully held away from impact, his thin form made contact- brown limbs melting with blue scrubs. Tipping his mask up, he drew me close, growled in my ear, and planted a warm wet kiss on my cheek. When I kissed him back, tickling his neck, he giggled and darted back into A ward.

Later that night, that lion cuddled on my lap in the wee hours of the morning, breathing soft and regular against my chest. Success.