Pumbaa and Timon were walking through the forest with Simba tagging along at their heels. Every day for a lion cub is full of new discoveries, but Simba’s friends were especially prone to throw him a curve just when it seemed like he had them figured out.
The day was going slowly, however, and other than a few extra things to eat, there was not much worth staying awake to see. Simba yawned and started to flop down, when suddenly a tall bird stepped out of the brush. “Can you dig it?? The gruesome twosome!”
“Sefu!” Timon cried with obvious pleasure. “Hey, what’s shakin! Good to see you!”
“Good to be seen!” Sefu ogled Simba. “Who’s the cat, cat?”
“That’s Simba, no lion!”
“Oooh, good comeback!”
Sefu timidly patted Simba on the head, then took Timon aside. None too discretely, he said, “Hey cat, he’s the deluxe model. Comes with large protective devices called ‘folks’ that eat Meerkats for less than this, you dig?”
“The little guy’s in trouble. We found him on the desert.”
“What’s the story?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think he wants to talk about it.”
“If it’s cool with him, it’s cool with me.”
Smiling broadly, Sefu stalked over to Simba on his lanky legs. “Yo, cubby! I’ve always wanted to be this close to a lion and live to tell about it. So have you always been this small?”
Simba thought for a moment, then he saw the mischievous look in Sefu’s eyes. “Oh, I get it!”
Timon said, “This is one hip hawk. One ravin raptor. One absurd bird! You ought to hear him groove.”
“What’s groove?” Simba asked.
“Show him, Sefu!”
Sefu waved his wings. “Just like that? Before the good vibrations?”
“Good vibrations?” Simba was confused.
“Yeah. Cloud nine. Seventh heaven. Peace, love and the distinct absence of major irritation.”
“Oh! In the groove!”
“Yeah.”
Simba thought. “How do you start good vibrations?”
“You think about your favorite things. When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I’m feeling sad. I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don’t feel so bad!”
“Just don’t sing it,” Timon said quickly. “Once was more than enough!” The meerkat thought a moment. “What you’re saying is that you CAN’T do a groove from a cold start.”
“Oh yeah??”
“Oh yeah!”
“Well give me room! I need space!”
Sefu stood atop a log that acted as an impromptu podium. He looked into the sky and began to sway slightly. “Oh, I can feel it coming, cats! It’s coming!”
Simba looked with fascination as the bird began to recite. Softly at first, but later with more volume and confidence:
Simba was fascinated. Sefu stopped, and Simba asked, “How does it end?”
“The story is being written. It comes from the top of your head, from the depths of your heart. You just open your mind and listen to the voices in your head. Listen to the wordless chatter of the leaves. Jump right in when you can. Timon, you add some to it.”
Timon stepped forward and threw out his arms. “Give me space to live, and dig it.”
Sefu listened carefully, and looked thoughtful. “Profound and very....very....uh....depressing. Let’s hear from the boy.”
Pumbaa pushed the reluctant Simba forward. “You can do it! Just make your mind a complete blank!”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Timon griped. “You’ve had plenty of practice.”
“Now hush!” Sefu said. “Let him have at it.”
Simba looked awkwardly at his paws and cleared his throat.
He thought a few moments, and making the supreme effort, burst out with:
“Groovy!” Sefu said. “Dig the chubby cubby--he’s a natural! What he ain’t got ain’t hot!”
Sefu gathered Simba under his wing. “Look here. You keep working on it, and some day you’re going to go places. There’s a spot out there for you. A spot for good lyricists. You do the words, and I do the little black dots.”
“Little black dots?”
“The music!”
“Do you really think I could?”
“Think? THINK?? You got IT, kid! I could make you a star!”
“A star? Me??” Simba’s ears flattened in fear. “I’m too young to die!”
“What?!” Sefu blinked. “No, kid: WE’LL be killin’ THEM. With an act like ours, we’ll SLAY ‘em!”
“Now hold on a minute here!” Pumbaa said. “That’s OUR boy!”
“Are you holding out on me, Pumbaa? You want to be his manager?”
“Not his manager!” Pumbaa said gruffly. “His father! I’m going to make sure he’s taken care of.”
“Okay, okay.” Sefu tapped a foot thoughtfully. “How does a flat rate followed by residuals grab you?”
“I don’t mean that kind of care. I mean love!” Pumbaa looked a little embarrassed. “Hey, I love the kid. I don’t want him to write songs unless it’s what he wants to do.”
Simba looked at Pumbaa. Then he looked back at Sefu. He stalked back to the warthog. “Maybe later, huh?”
“Sure, kid. Whatever floats your boat. I still think we could have made an awesome team.”
Sefu disappeared as quickly as he showed up. Simba looked at Timon with puzzlement. “Is he real?”
“That’s just him. Part philosopher, part musician, all mental case. But he’s really an all right guy when you get to know him.”
“So are you, Uncle Timon. You too, Pumbaa.”
Pumbaa smiled broadly. “Thanks!”