Simba Lives In Heart

It was a calm morning when the sun came up slowly, seemingly reluctantly, as if not to disturb the world. I was busy with my chores when my neighbour's aunt called me over, whispering. "See… Simba is gone," she said, her eyes overflowing with tears.

My heart sank. I paused, not sure if I heard her correctly. "What was wrong with him?" I enquired, though my heart already knew. "He's no more," she replied, her voice filled with despair.

Meanwhile, the aunt and her family had gathered in the backyard to enter a small grave for Simba. They lit a candle after the burial and sat in silence, grieving for the loss of a soul that had gently touched their lives — and ours.

Simba. The name brought a tide of memories. The furry companion would peer out from behind the back gate, his curious eyes placed between metal bars, tail tapping like a metronome of joy. To neighbours like us, Simba was no longer just a dog but a part of our daily rhythm — a gentle, quiet face that made our days cozier. Every time I passed, Simba would wait, alert, attentive, and optimistic. He'd bark softly and sometimes wag his tail, quietly asking for a treat. I'd often end up sharing with him whatever I had in hand: a slice of bread, a banana, or a piece of biscuit. He'd never whine, never nag. Just thank you.

It's strange how animals, never saying a word, can so deeply imprint themselves on our hearts. Simba didn't roam the streets or cause trouble. He hung around his house, loyal to his family, and yet somehow, by some elusive sorcery, he was ours, all of us in the neighbourhood. His quiet presence gave many of us something we didn't even know we were missing — unconditional love and a comforting presence of habit.

Aunt, who had raised Simba like he was her son, was devastated. Her bond with him was made of quiet walks, meals shared, and years of loving companionship. I could see it in her face — the emptiness that loss leaves. The home was quieter and heavier. The yard stood still, which had once been filled with Simba's quiet barks and wagging tail.

There is something especially tragic about losing an animal. Pets like Simba guard our homes and cheer our hearts. They teach us joy in simplicity, commitment without condition, and the deep comfort of friendship. I still miss him — the creak behind the gate, the friendly bark, the warm look in his eyes. Simba gave us peace in a world too busy and loud.

Standing at the gate he had once peered through, I softly said goodbye. The air was not the same. Emptier. Goodbye, Simba. You're gone, but your spirit lives on — in the backyard, the hearts of those who loved you, and every quiet moment of kindness you created.

The family planted a guava tree over Simba's remains. And now, when guava bears fruit, we remember Simba with each bite — sweet, uncomplicated, and indelible.