Roary's Snack Attack

Roary’s eyes, usually wide with the wonder of a thousand new discoveries, were currently narrowed in a most determined fashion. He was crouched low, his little striped tail twitching like a lightning rod for mischief. Mama Tiger, her patience wearing thinner than a well-loved blanket, watched him from the mouth of their cozy cave. Papa Tiger, ever the calm observer, leaned against a mossy rock, a faint smile playing on his lips. The sun had dipped below the jagged peaks, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, and the jungle was beginning to hum with the quiet sounds of evening. But Roary? Roary was a whirlwind of untapped energy, a tiny tiger who seemed to have a personal vendetta against slumber.

"Roary, darling," Mama Tiger purred, her voice a gentle rumble that usually soothed even the most boisterous cubs. "It's time for sleep. Remember? We read the story about the sleepy sloth, and I sang you the song about the moonbeams…"

Roary, who had been meticulously arranging a collection of particularly shiny pebbles in a perfect circle, looked up. His whiskers quivered. "But Mama," he declared, his voice surprisingly loud for such a small creature, "I’m not sleepy. I’m… I’m hungry!"