A year ago, while returning from the market, Grandma Edith heard a faint mewling from behind a rubbish bin. There, in a grubby cardboard box, lay a tiny kitten with golden eyes. She assumed it was just an ordinary strayskinny, shivering, nearly frozen. Her heart ached with pity. She wrapped it in her shawl, cradled it close, and carried it home.
From that day on, the little creature became her constant companion. She gave it a sweet, homey nameWhiskers. The kitten ate eagerly, growing quickly. Its paws thickened, its fur grew lush, and its gaze turned strangely intense.
After a few months, Grandma Edith watched in shock as Whiskers effortlessly shredded an old cushion with its claws. Thats when the terrible truth dawned on her: this was no kitten. It was a lion.
But by then, she couldnt bear to part with it. The lion had become her friend, her solace in loneliness. With no family left, the beast gave her life meaning. She hid it from her neighbours, keeping the curtains drawn and rarely stepping outside.
All her pension money went on meatjoints of beef and lamb vanished so fast the shopkeepers began whispering.
Grandma Edith paid no mind. At night, “Whiskers” slept beside her, purring in its own waya deep, rumbling growlwhile she stroked its soft mane like any beloved house cat.
The neighbours noticed something odd. Heavy breathing echoed from her flat at night, as though someone were shifting furniture or tiptoeing about. People joked, “Theres something peculiar going on in there.” But the jokes stopped one dayGrandma Edith hadnt been seen in a week.
Worried, her neighbour Mrs. Higgins called the local constable, insisting they check on her. When the door creaked open, the flat was eerily quietuntil Mrs. Higgins screamed in horror at the sight before her.
On the sofa, bathed in dim lamplight, sat a massive, golden lion. Its muzzle was stained dark. And in the bedroom, Grandma Edith lay on the beddead for days.
She had passed quietly in her sleep. At first, her beloved pet had simply rested beside her. But by the fourth day, hunger gnawed at it, and it began to feast on her flesh. Drops of crimson trailed from room to room.
The lion made no attempt to flee when she died. It knew no life beyond those walls, having lived there since infancy.
This is why they say a wild beast stays wild, no matter how long you tame it.
