Byron squeegeed the blood off the cutting table, swooshing it into a bucket. He poured the red liquid into a dozen plastic cups lining the sink—he’d put them in the freezer later to make bloodsicles. It was all that was left of four hundred pounds of meat they had cut to serve the cats.
Outside, Walter Martin, the male lion, roared. His cage was only ten yards away from the prep trailer and when he stood on its west side and let loose at feeding time, like he was doing now, Byron could feel it in his chest, the air moved by the lion’s enormous lung power. “Ooorrrruuunnnggghhh!” Walter Martin’s roar vibrated through the air.
“We’re getting to ya, big guy. Hold on!” Byron called out. Walter was silent for a few seconds–he’d heard Byron–and then he started in again, relentless and hungry.
