“My mumma is so stwong.”

Was all that went through his little mind as his mother carried him back to their home in a set of bushes in the park. That evening the young baby, the only survivor of her litter, ate heartily as his mother lay on her side. His little eyes didn’t notice how hard she was panting. Nor did his nose notice the smell of almonds that permeated the air as her wounds lay open to the elements.

The next morning he awoke to find his mumma still asleep. That was silly of her, mummas were supposed to wake babies up! So he closed his little eyes and went back to sleep. Several hours late her rose again and she had not moved yet. But he knew that she was going to wake up and give him nummies, so he shouldn’t move until she told him it was time to wake up.

That was two weeks ago. He broke his mumma’s rules and drank whatever milk he could, although very little. He didn’t want his mother to wake up and find him disobeying her. So he’d quickly scramble back to his spot on her back.

But now…mumma’s not smelling so pretty and the milk has run out.