THE LION WITH NO NAME

          Once upon a time there was a lion with no name—he didn’t have one yet because he was brand-new. He still had tags on him when Collin Coats ripped off the birthday wrapping paper and said crabbily, “A stuffed lion? Doesn’t Grandma know I’m ten years old today?”

          And the truth was she didn’t because she was old and forgetful.

          “Mom, can’t we take him back and get something better?” Collin complained.

           “But I’m tired of sitting on a store shelf,“ roared the lion with no name, as loudly as he could. “I want to belong to somebody!”

          But nobody paid any attention. In fact, I don’t think anyone even heard.

          So that night, while everyone was sleeping, he crept out the front door and set out to find someone to belong to.

          The next morning the twins Tracy and Stacy Sample found him on their doorstep.

         “He’s mine,” said Stacy. “I saw him first!”

         “No, he’s mine!” cried Tracy. “I’m the one who tripped over him!”

         Then one twin grabbled him by a paw and the other snatched him by his tail, and they had a tug of war, yanking him back and forth so hard that, if he hadn’t been so strong, they would have torn him in two.

         “Can’t I belong to you both?” roared the lion with no name, as loudly as he could.

          But they didn’t pay any attention. In fact, I don’t think they even heard. Instead they argued and fought over him all day long.

           And since it didn’t look like the matter was ever going to get settled, he crept out the front door in the middle of the night while everyone was sleeping and set out to find a single somebody to belong to.

         The next morning Brandon Beamer found him under the elm tree, where he’d stopped to sleep because he couldn’t go any farther.

         “Finders, keepers!” Brandon shouted with glee. And he took the lion to his room and stuck him on top of the dresser—well, half on and half off—with all the other stuffed animals in his collection.

         “But there isn’t room for me!” roared the lion with no name, as loudly as he could.

          But Brandon didn’t pay any attention. In fact, I don’t think he even heard.

         The minute Brandon’s back was turned a green hippo shoved the lion off the dresser and he toppled onto his head.

       And there he stayed, since he wasn’t quite sure what to do, till the maid found him and put him back.

          When the same thing happened as soon as she had finished tidying up the room and left, he realized you couldn’t really belong to someone who had too many belongings, so he pried himself free in the middle of the night, crept out the front door while everyone was sleeping, and went out looking for somebody he could really belong to.

         The next morning Mrs. Ruggles found him on her porch swing.

         “Rupert, look what I found on our doorstep!” she said to her husband, who was reading the newspaper and didn’t answer because he was hard of hearing. “I’ll keep him for Renny when he comes to visit,” she said wistfully and set the lion gently on Renny’s made-up bed.

         But days passed, and the lion got dusty because Renny, who was the Ruggles’ grandson, had moved with his parents far away.

         “But I want someone to belong to all the time!” roared the lion with no name to no one in particular.

          But no one in particular paid any attention. In fact, I don’t think anyone in particular even heard.

          And so he crept out the front door in the middle of the night while everyone was sleeping and went out looking for somebody to belong to all of the time.

         The next morning Mrs. Marvel found him on her welcome mat.

         “A donation for the hospital!” she exclaimed. “What an adorable lion!” And she stuffed him into a cardboard box piled with clothes and other toys.

         “But I want someone to belong to soon!” roared the lion with no name, as loudly as he could.

          But Mrs. Marvel didn’t pay any attention. In fact, I don’t think she even heard.

          That night he decided to stay put and wait and see what happened next because he was just too tired to go out looking for somebody to belong to soon.

         On Christmas Day he woke up at the foot of a hospital bed, where a sick little girl named Rae was sleeping. When she woke up too and saw him, she struggled up, though she was weak, and took him in her arms and buried her face in his soft mane.

         “What’s his name?” she asked the nurse who came in with her medicine.

         “He’s yours, honey,” said the nurse. “You can name him anything you want.”

         Rae petted him and fussed over him all that day, accidentally spilling hospital food on him at every meal.

          Then she hugged him most of the night, though sometimes in her sleep she squeezed him so tightly she almost choked him, and twice she bumped him onto the floor because she had a fever and flung her arms and legs about.

         But each time he crawled back into bed with her and tucked himself under her arm again. It didn’t bother him a bit getting dirty, being squeezed and accidentally knocked to the floor—it didn’t even bother him when she drooled on him, because he thought that maybe, just maybe, he’d found somebody to belong to.

         When the sun came up the next morning and he yawned and felt himself still cradled in Rae’s arms, he gave a great roar of happiness.

         “Did you hear that?” Rae sleepily asked the nurse who was smoothing down her covers.

         “Hear what?” asked the nurse.

         “Why, he roared!” said Rae.

         “I didn’t hear anything,” said the nurse.

         “I did,” said Rae. “He woke me up. I guess I’ll just have to name you Roary,” she whispered to him, stroking his whiskers. So he roared again, just to let her know how pleased he was with his name.

         And that is the end of the story of the lion who had no name and didn’t belong to anyone—and the beginning of the story of Roary, who belonged to Rae.