Chapter Three

       THE NAMING

      The younger and smaller cub, still lacking a name, spent the night alone in his cage, in the city menagerie where he was to live.

      His brain was full of new things, new bewilderments. Having his fangs drawn had been terrible, but the pain was fading and with it the memory of his terror and agony. He thought about the male two-legs that had comforted him, making soft sounds to him and giving him milk to suck, reminding him dimly of his lost Big One. Not all two-legs were either things to fear or things he might like to eat. They were certainly meat, but they were more. They were powerful and puzzling and even fearsome, but also they could do pleasing things. He thought of the female two-legs with the eyes that had looked into his. He had wanted to creep to her and lick the blood off her hand after she had provided him with food, encourage that hand to scratch and stroke him again. He sensed no threat, but he was uncertain. He hadn’t seen anything like her before.

      Where was his brother?

      That was the most important thing.

      They had been a pair, and now that had ended and he was alone. In the darkness there was no warm, friendly other to curl up against. No familiar smell and no one to communicate with.

      He slept at last, miserable, aching and lonely.

      But in the morning things were better. The male two-legs came and made sounds to him and petted him. There were others with him, but the cub only noticed the one he knew.

      ‘Today would have been a bad day for you, Tigris, but you’re lucky again. She’s forbidden it. So I’ve got something for you instead, so that you won’t forget yourself and do her a mischief!’ He reached down into the cage and began to rub the cub’s belly. Instinctively he rolled over and stuck his big feet in the air. Before he understood what was happening, something was slipped over each of them, something that muffled his claws.

      He rolled over swiftly and stood up, sniffing this new addition to his body. He didn’t like it. He caught the stuff in his teeth and tried to pull it off, but he couldn’t. It fitted tightly around his legs and was too strong to tear.

      He rolled and rubbed and bit, but it was useless. The young two-legs watched him, and, when he could, scratched the cub’s ears.

      ‘Get used to it, friend. You’re a shod tiger now, and you must wear them till you learn good manners. Till you can be trusted.’

      ‘If that day ever comes!’ said one of the others.

      But the cub understood only that when he tried to walk he couldn’t properly feel the ground under his feet and learn from it. He didn’t yet know that he couldn’t use his claws. But when his day’s meat was brought to him, he found out. He was used to pinning the meat down with his claws and chewing chunks off it. But this meat was in small pieces. He didn’t realise that it was because his jaws ached too much to chew properly. All he knew was that he couldn’t hold it, he couldn’t rend it… He was no longer whole, no longer what he had been. What he knew he was meant to be. He was muffled. He was less.

      *

      When he was taken to the female two-legs, he was already angry.

      She took one look at him and began to make a mouth-noise.

      ‘Oh, look! He’s got boots on!’

      ‘Yes, Princess. It was Caesar’s orders when he heard that you’d forbidden us to draw his claws.’

      She capered about joyfully.

      ‘I couldn’t think of a name for him, but now I have it! I’ll call him Boots!’

      The cub named Boots without knowing he’d been named, watched her, surprised because she whirled like a peacock. She had no tail but she had something like a tail, that sparkled and flared. She made a noise rather like a peacock, too. But she still looked like a big monkey to him and she smelt good. He sensed she wasn’t as strong as the males. He thought he would try to eat her. But only if the male two-legs wasn’t there to put his hand on his neck and stop him.

      But the big two-legs didn’t go away. He stayed.

      He took the cub out of the cage. The cub liked being held by the two-legs. It made him feel very safe. It was strange, smelling his food-smell and, at the same time, liking to be held close to him. The anger was still there because of what had been put on his feet. But he already knew better than to bite the male two-legs. The puzzling thing was that he no longer wanted to.

      *

      That day he learnt to play.

      Of course, he had played before, with his brother. But not for a long time. Not during the bad time in the dark, rocking place. They had been too fearful and wretched. But now he remembered that it was good to chase something that rolled along the ground, to catch it and leap with it, knocking it into the air and batting it with his muffled paws. He almost forgot they were muffled.

      The female two-legs made the peacock noise and the rain-on-leaves noise with her front feet. She crouched down and made the same sound over and over again: ‘Boots! Boots!’ He sensed she wanted him to come to her, and he wanted to come. At first he was too timid, but then the male two-legs picked him up and put him down close to her. She smelt good and her paws when she touched him were knowing and cunning amid his fur, scratching and stroking in ways that made him squirm and lie on his back and rumble deep in his chest. He had a vague memory of the rough tongue and the warm flanks and the nipple that filled his mouth with sweet flowing power.

      He hadn’t