Shooting Panthera pardus nimr
… or the Arabian Leopard.
I name him Al Shakhboot. He’s not too happy in his home at Al Ain zoo, of course. “I’d rather be running free in the Arabian peninsula with my tribe attacking hyenas and gazelles,” he confides. Little does he know that he’s much safer here, considering how his species are brutally murdered for personal satisfaction and pride, traditional medicine and hides.
Right next to Al Shakhboot lives a flock of black swans. Ignoring his irritation and hunger – and well aware that he can’t harm them from across the fence – the swans dance around happily within their cage, displaying their plump and juicy bodies.
His stomach grumbles. And he craves to hunt. But what can poor Al Shakhboot do? Instead, he throws an annoyed glance at the inconsiderate birds, and walks over to the other side of his home … to chew on grass.
“There must be a mistake somewhere in the immigration department,” he grunts, then chews another mouthful of grass. “Perhaps they mistakenly gave me a goat’s visa when I entered this country!”