Tribal Princess
Tribal Princess Serval
Female Serval
Born 1994 - Died ?
I can picture her as a juvenile and where she lived out in the area of the servals, but other than this diary entry there appears to be no other mention of her that I can find. From the photo she didn’t die at the vet’s office in the 1994 story below. As much as Don professed to love his cats, he may have sold her as every one of them had a price on their head in his mind and since he could barely read, he’d almost never come home with paper work after sneaking a cat off to sell.
3/30/1994 from Carole Baskin’s Diary:
I bought a hammock. I knew I’d never have time to use it, but I hoped that seeing it might bring a little peace into my life. It’s 10:05 in the morning. Don Lewis is in surgery to repair the tear duct he obliterated in his plane crash from a few years back and 6 blocks away in an oxygen tent at the vets office our 5 week old serval kitten Tribal Princess is gasping for life. Before leaving the house this morning Don fired his son Danny and demanded return of all his vehicles, tools and equipment. Don says Danny’s been stealing from him and the other workers and is emotionally retarded. He has a horrible attitude and is as lazy as they come, but he’s kind to the animals and I like him. Tracy says Danny reminds him of his own problems while growing up and working with his father. He says Danny can’t go on to be a man while he’s still a little boy looking for praise from his father.
I suggested to Don that he find good in Danny and to tell him he loves him, but Don doesn’t know how to love. He says he loves me more than he has ever been able to love anyone, and I believe it. Some people just have a hard time expressing love, but Don has a hard time feeling it.
God presents us with lessons, daily, and I think all these animals are here to teach Don how to love. It’s been a gradual process, beginning with the pheasants, chickens, peafowl and swans, where Don started learning to put the needs of a live animal ahead of his own. The raccoons, squirrels and foxes taught him patience in dealing with animals who don’t think like him. The exotic cats seem to be teaching him that life is more important than money and that the money we have is well spent in providing comfort for others.
I see love in his face as he’s giving a midnight bottle to a kitten. I see love in his face as he rushes a sick cat to the vet. His favorite daily ritual is to give every cat a little ”treat” each morning. The whole world can just stop until he’s had his morning time with his cats. Maybe one day he will be able to love his own kind.
10:10 p.m. – Please Lord, no more days like today! I paid Don’s bill as he was going into the recovery room because I knew he’d be in a hurry to go home. It was 10:30 am. I asked if I could sit with him while he woke up and was obliged. When I reached his room he looked dead and had knocked his oxygen mask off. The attendant snapped it back on and left the room.
Don’s breathing was so shallow that I couldn’t even detect it. No fog on the mask, no movement of his body, his jaw would drop down like a fish gasping but his chest & stomach did not move. He was cold and clammy and blue. Instinctively, I said “BREATHE!!” and he did about 3 times and then he’d regress. I tried breathing with him, holding my breath when he didn’t breathe to make sure I wasn’t over reacting. I wasn’t. No one can live on so little air. For 3 hours I told him to breathe. That’s good – you’re doing good and each time he heard me, or I shook him, or I squeezed his hand he would breathe. If I stopped – he stopped.
Don had told the Dr. that he couldn’t take much anesthesia, but when I came in to talk to the Dr. after surgery he said he had to throw in everything but the kitchen sink to put Don under. I knew then we were in trouble. The doctor left us there with a hostile receptionist and a rude nurse.
I was afraid to say anything about Don’s condition for fear they’d pump him full of drugs to wake him up and really mess him up. I figured as long as talking and handling him was keeping him breathing, it was the safer route.
As Don started coming around he called for me over and over. I assured him I was there. He kept saying “Something’s wrong, I can’t remember to breathe , something’s goofy, I’m getting farther away…” I’m scared enough and he’s adding to it. Sometimes he’d ask how our Serval was doing, did she drink her milk, can she breathe?” He kept asking me to describe the place where he was, the walls, the bed, where the phone was. I hope for Don’s sake there are phones in heaven!
