It’s possible I have failed to sufficiently “count the cost” of carrying a delightfully sweet, fun, small stray cat to my new home. Lyle started off as “Lily,” because of his/her slender stature. She was small because she was young. I mean, he was small. But, that is not the case anymore.

When I say Lyle is a “lion,” I mean sideways too he’s lyin’, as in lyin’ on the floor of my small apartment. It’s more like bomb shelter, really, the kind families dig in their back yard for tornadoes and winter storage. I have everything I may possibly need, I believe, in my basement burrow. So, in that way it is quite luxurious. And I have Lyle, my Lion.

He IS a lion. He’s growing into the biggest cat I have ever seen! I think he is a cross between a domestic cat and a wildcat. Has someone been doing cross-breeding experiments in Northfield?? Lyle, does do his cat duties effectively. I haven’t seen a creature stir in the building since we both arrived. He has that casual, calm, way of sauntering around the neighborhood as if to say, “I am King here, let there be no mistake. This is my domain. Let every scavenging ne’er-do-well that tries to breech my burrow be put on notice!”

I could’ve used Lyle when the rats breached the hen compound last year, and nearly collapsed the whole thing with their tunnels. It’s nice to have a lion. But, when Lyle lays on the floor in the bomb shelter, he makes it hard to get around. He doesn’t move, or seem all that concerned that I am walking (or trying) to negotiate our shared space. Nerves of steel, apparently, also an admirable quality.

It’s not clear who decides what time to get up in the morning which concerns me. I can’t really negotiate with a lion. Like the hens, Lyle lives in his own frequency. He has his own language and built in rules and expectations. The Lion has a say, I decided, because he does contribute to the household. He’s not like one of those cats that just lays around all day and DOESN’T contribute, in which case he’d be out on his cat-ass. Even if I needed a pistol and whip to get him out.

Lyle, the Lion King. What exactly does that make me in the shared space of our small abode??