The kangaroo slept.
Cuchulainn peered into the enclosure. “She is fearless,” he said. “We could strike at our whims, we could eat her for breakfast, and she sleeps!”
“Have you ever eaten M.O.M.?” asked a kid beside him.
Cuchulainn chose to ignore this.
“Do you know what M.O.M. means?” he went on.
“No! Be quiet!” said Cuchulainn. “She sleeps!”
“Meat of marsupials,” the kid answered himself. “Kangaroo meat is also called marsupen, marsu, jumpmeat, even kangasaurus!”
“I said quiet!” said Cuchulainn. “I could have a gun, you know!”
“I like M.O.M. best,” the kid said. “Not that I’d ever eat a marsupial. I like marsupials. My name’s Terence.”
“You speak endlessly.” Cuchulainn went for a better look at the kangaroo, but Terence followed.
“Did you know the Tasmanian devil is a marsupial, too?”
“The devil with you!” cried Cuchulainn. “I will throw you in her den!”
“The island of Tasmania is part of Australia. Australia has many marsupials. Did you know koalas are marsupials?”
“Die!”
“So are wombats, wallabies, bandicoots.”
“You speak riddles and nonsense!” Cuchulainn reached for his imagined gun. “I may have to shoot!”
“A lot of people think marsupials are only native to Australia,” said Terence, “but possums are actually marsupials. Did you know that?”
“Whose child is this?!” Cuchulainn called out. “Claim this bastard ere I strike!”
“You talk funny!” Terence laughed.
“I wish to see her physique.” Cuchulainn peered in closer. “When will she wake?”
“She probably won’t,” said Terence. “Most marsupials are nocturnal.”
“I will count to ten and fire,” said Cuchulainn.
●
Cuchulainn also saw a tiger at the zoo and his heart was consumed by its majesty. He had never been so impressed in his life! He had known household pets and squirrels, raccoons, rats, pigeons, he liked spiders, and yes, they were all his kin. But the tiger! It came from the heavenly realms yet also a world of nature’s perils! Cuchulainn was beside himself with wonder. He returned home and immediately devoted his life to researching these incredible cats. Soon his bedroom walls were a collage of tiger posters and clippings. He even kept a journal of drawings he conceived of himself in tiger form. He carried it everywhere and consulted it for inspiration when life let him down. His tiger persona became prominent in his thoughts and dreams, guiding his decisions, determining his actions.
The world must see, he thought. The obvious choice was a tiger’s face tattooed over his own. He filled the rest of his journal with designs and fantasies for this transformation. In these sketches he saw a fulfilling lifestyle, he saw his true identity. His uncle, his priest, the librarian, several dog-walkers at the park, and the tattoo artist herself cautioned him against the idea, but he insisted it was his destiny.
When it was time to sign the waiver it came out that Cuchulainn was underage and the artist would not serve him. His hostility got him permanently banned from the shop. He encountered the same problem afterwards when a barkeep denied him his pint of gin.