Two Weeks, Day One: Exposition
Josh knew something was wrong even before he opened his eyes. It wasn’t the snug, soft sensations that surrounded him like a second skin. He didn’t even notice the skin tight fabric that covered most of him. What alerted him to the unusual nature of the morning was the breeze. Most of him was baking hot, but that wasn’t anything new, he woke up baking hot with a light breeze every day. No, it wasn’t that he felt moving air that startled him, it was where he felt moving air, and where he didn’t. Josh wasn’t a shy Lion, not to any extent, and he was not above sleeping completely nude, even before he moved out of his parent’s house. If anything the habit had grown since then, and he was expecting to feel the breeze everywhere on his body, keeping him cool. Everywhere except the back of his neck, where his highly groomed and lovingly maintained mane kept the wind off. Against all precedent and logic, that was the only place, Josh noticed, that he was feeling cool air. His paws, front and hind, were sticky and shy with heat, only then, with the realization that the physics regarding air-currents had suddenly reversed, did Josh come out of his daze, and open his eyes.
Like the strange neck breeze, the Lion couldn’t really understand what he was looking at. Sure, he could describe what he saw easily enough, but what it was isn’t what puzzled him. He wanted to know why it was there. Had he really gotten that drunk at the party that he passed out in some kid’s bedroom? Weird, usually he reigned himself in after three or four. 
Wait, kid’s bedroom? He thought, almost physically jumping at the realization of what he was looking at. There was no mistaking it; however, a cursory glance gave him all the detail he needed. He was looking straight up at a huge plastic mobile, those weird spiny things that parents put over a baby’s crib to help them sleep. It would be an understatement to say that the lion’s hear skipped a beat, he stared blankly for a minute, developed a cold sweat, and then immediately began violently rocking back and forth, struggling valiantly against the fabric prison. The covers, thick and tight as they were, came loose under the force of a confused and agitated lion who occasionally indulged in weight lifting, not intended to act as bindings, only as covers.
Josh’s struggle, however valiant, only deepened his sense of dread as the covers fell away, thick and woolen, printed with cubs and bottles and letter blocks, the kind of blanket that you would find in a nursery. Embarrassing as such a comforter would have been under normal circumstances, it was as far away in comparison to what he saw underneath, as that was from being caught in bed with a half dozen ready and attractive women.    
The lion’s world shrunk, like tunnel vision of the mind. His ability to observe and comment had, in a second, regressed to that of a small child, one who thought that, if something goes out of view, it ceases to exist. All Josh knew, looking down at his lower body, freed from the oppressive weight of the covers, was what he was wearing, and he was very opposed to what he should have been wearing. 
It was a light blue, not necessarily the worst color to chose. It went nicely, Josh would have thought, with the light orange of his fur. That observation, of course, would have applied to a new t-shirt, or blue jeans, or shorts, something that fit the loose and bulky industrial, made by children in a Chinese sweatshop era of male teenage clothing. What the lion had been dressed in was, in every important aspect, the opposite of what he would have been expected to wear. It was tight, skintight, even, and stretched to hug the curves and contours of his mildly muscular torso. Not that this was a bad thing, Josh often indulged in a tight t-shirt or tank top to show off just those muscles. What he didn’t wear, however, was baby blue t-shirts made of spandex that reached down like a one-piece swim suit to his crotch, before sweeping up in the back and snapping in place in the front with four buttons. Josh tried to exclaim, to shout out challenge to whoever had put him in this ridiculous garment, but he found he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even open his mouth over the huge latex nipple, the head of a matching pacifier which attached to a muzzle-like harness, stretching straps around his head and chin to secure it immovably in place. 
Josh tried to grab the straps of the muzzle, ready even to saw through it with his claws if he had to, only to get the disgusting thing out of his mouth. Another surprise, however, was awaiting him when he saw the place, at the end of his muscular forearm, where his powerful paws were supposed to be. A pair of identical blue mittens, like extentions of the onesie, yes, that’s what it’s called, a onesie, he thought that flattened out his fingers and thumbs into a plane, silky palm. He might slap somebody, or wrap his hand around a glass, but, until his hands were released, he realized that he could do little more than paw at things like the toddler he was dressed as. The mittens had something soft, silk, he thought, on the insides and outsides, but something much more substantial, thick cloth, or even leather, beneath the soft covering. To add insult to injury, they had pink heart patterns standing in for his actual, metacarpal pads and claws.
He moaned into the pacifier gag, inhaling sharply through his nose and shaking his head as he noticed the hefty bulge around his waist, right where the onesie was snuggest. There was the outline of white plastic sticking out around the crotch strap of the garment, confirming his greatest dread. On top of everything else, the onesie, the muzzle and pacifier, the mittens on his hands and their cousins, similar booties on his feet, he was wearing something thick, white, plastic and pronounced that sat cozily between his legs, white plastic leak guards exposed slightly and highly visible against his orange-yellow fur. The lion’s blush could have been mistaken for a glorious sunset over the ocean, his face a brilliant mixture of purple and red as hot color poured into it. Josh the lion, independent badass and distance running record holder, was in a diaper, and had no way to remove it. 
The lion thrashed around, shook his head, moaned and sniveled, his eyes going puffy with the beginnings of tears, the same phrase going over and over in his mind, this can’t be happening, oh, this can’t be happening. For a moment he adjourned himself that it wasn’t, in fact, happening, and that this was just some crazy, alcohol induced lucid dream, but he quickly abolished such thoughts. Of course this wasn’t a dream. Someone had knocked him out, dressed him like a newborn cub, and left him to cry his eyes out in…
“Awww  cwwwib!?” he exclaimed, audible even through the nipple and shield of his pacifier, finally sober enough of whatever the kidknapper had used to drug him to notice the rectangle of six foot high bars that surrounded the edges, about the same as a queen sized mattress. He threw himself into a corner, the top right one, nearest the headboard. In shock, he curled into a ball against the bars, a thick layer of something soft, rubber or the like, with a solid rod of something much sterner underneath, and reached up to stroke his mane, an infantile comfort he hadn’t used since he had been taken out of diapers at the age of two. As though whoever had done this hadn’t been cruel enough already, Josh finally realized why he had felt the breeze on the back of his neck: his mane was gone, shaven clean, right down to the short, orange fur that covered him from head to toe. One couldn’t even tell it had ever been, as though someone had gone through with tweezers and pulled out each individual hair, never to grow back in again. They hadn’t, of course, but they might as well have. His short, furry ears stuck upward into space exactly as they had before his mane had grown in, perky and cute. If one were to scale the crib to his size, someone looking at a picture would not have been able to tell the difference between him and an actual cub. Instead of playing with his missing red mane, Josh did the next thing that came to mind: adopt the fetal position, and rub the short fur that grew were his mane should have been. He sat there for a good fifteen minutes or so, suckling on the pacifier during the worst of it, and rocking back and forth in a cocktail of emotions more entangled than the Gordian knot. And, eventually, like the Gordian knot, Josh stumbled upon the solution: cut it in half. 
The lion growled, fighting down an intolerable urge to roar because he knew full well that what pathetic crumbs of the sound made it past the pacifier’s shield would sound more petty and feeble than his attempts to roar past a pacifier had been at the age of two. Instead he mastered himself, silenced his throat, and pulled himself out of the shambles he was in. The lion gritted his teeth, trying and failing to bring his jaws together around the massive nipple, he seized the bars of the crib, one in each mittened paw, and hauled himself to his feet. Or he would have, if there hadn’t been three minor things he had overlooked: his paws had about as much grip as wet soap, the deep mattress, clearly thought out in advance, sunk in around his satin-covered toes and threw off his balance, and the diaper, which only mildly forced apart his legs while laying down, made standing, let alone walking, as hilariously impractical as if he were on something like his seventeenth beer. The thickness of the padding, so seemingly insignificant a moment earlier, now kept his legs so far spread that he might as well have had a mattress folded in half and stuffed inside his onesie. So, given all the forces arrayed against him, it stands to reason that, as his thickly padded bottom hit the mattress in failure, he shouldn’t have been nearly so surprised as he was, brought almost to the edge of tears again as the plastic in his pants crinkled for all the world to hear.
Summoning what remained of his dignity, Josh hooked one arm around a bar, barely far enough apart for him to do so, and tried, much more carefully, to stand, his legs quivering, toddler like as he waddled back and forth to keep his balance. Eventually he managed to find a stable footing. So long as he didn’t move, he wouldn’t windup on the seat of his diaper again. Breathing heavily, he started to waddle crab-wise along the bars of the crib, using them for balance as best he could. The bars were nearly six feet tall, only a few inches higher than the top of his head at a regular time. This, however, was not a regular time. His paws sunk nearly six inches into the bed with every step, and the monstrous diaper between his legs forced him wide and lopsided on his weight distribution, always having to favor one leg. He could easily have climbed it, were it not for the mitts and diaper, but, unfortunately, no solution presented itself, no mercy sent from the gods of waking up in a strange bed dressed like a cub was forthcoming. 
His awkward scuttle around the edge of his crib may not have showed him a plausible way out, but it did, however, give him some idea of what the room looked like. It was a large affair, a few hundred square feet, at least, and longer than it was wide. It had a carpet of colorful swirls and circles, layered like plaid, with walls that were covered with murals, cubs playing in dirt, foxes and otters, some birds, even a dragon was present. All were diapered, and dressed much in the same way he was now. There was a moment that had almost broken the lion, one long stretch of wall, directly opposite the crib, which was dead center in the room, was covered, floor to ceiling, in mirror, and Josh sat there, dazzled, looking at what had become of him, helpless and dressed like a baby. He looked like a baby, right down to the begging look on his face, like the cub in the mirror might escape first, come over and help its cousin out of his crib.
There was one door in the room, dead center across from the footboard of the crib. It was large, painted green, and, so far as Josh could tell, made of something thick and strong. There were windows in the room, a long string of them, each, maybe, a foot tall and positioned right at the top of the room across from the mirror, though curtains had been pulled across them and. Though it didn’t filter out all the light, it left the rest of the nursery with a pale, pink glow. 
Josh shook his head, fell back to the bed, and pulled the covers back over him, defeated. He had, at last, realized that he couldn’t get out of the room because of the crib, couldn’t  get out of the crib because of the diaper, couldn’t get out of the diaper because of the mittens, and couldn’t get out of the mittens, period. He sighed through his nose, settled his naked head upon one of the soft, cotton pillows, and fell back asleep, humbled, beaten, and coming to the conclusion that, if he was going to be treated like a baby, he might as well sleep in like one.
* * *
Josh awakened again, later, oblivious to the passage of time, to the sound of footsteps outside the door, actual, legitimate sound made by someone who wasn’t him. He quickly hunkered down inside the blanket, only his eyes sticking out, and waited for the door to open. It did, and closed behind the opener. The first Josh saw of his captor, through the bars of his prison, was of a pair of wings and tail feathers spreading out from underneath a thin, green robe with yellow trimming around the edges. It was an eagle, a golden eagle. Josh almost forgot to be surprised, avians, let alone eagles, were extraordinarily rare when compared to other species, and a female to boot. Her feathers were light yellow in color, much softer than the dark brown of the male, but hinting at the darker shade near the tips of each feather, a nicely balanced gradient. She walked right past him, unnoticing, and stopped in front of a wall-length counter top with drawers and cupboards all along it. She leaned over, rummaging through the contents of various containers before settling on one, setting it inside a microwave within a cupboard, and waited for whatever it was to cook. 
Josh wasn’t stupid, and he had a species’ worth of predatory instinct to tell him to keep his head low, but, eventually, the call to draw attention was too great. The lion rose to his knees, wrapped both paws around a bar, and shook with all his might. The whole thing moved a bit, and it made a slight rocking noise. Not like it would break, the bars were set in solid wood, just that it would move enough to alert the eagle, which it did.
“Oh, oh sweetie! Did I wake you up?” she said, Josh continuing to rattle the cage, “Oh, is something wrong, little one? Are you hungry? Wet?” 
Despite the indignation at being referred to as sweetie, and little one, Josh managed to keep his head, and try to make his desires clear. The eagle, however, cared little how indignant  the lion was about being treated like a baby. So, instead of releasing him, she just waltzed over casually, reached her hand through the bars, and gently pushed up the front of his diaper, right above the crotch. 
“Wuh duhh fwuuk!” he said, or, rather, moaned sound around his gag, his hackles instinctually rising as she groped his genitalia through the diaper.
“Hmm, you don’t feel wet, let me try this,” she said, and promptly slipped a finger through the buttoned fold of his onesie, and down into his diaper. Josh recoiled, throwing himself onto his back, out of the eagle’s reach, “Huh, not wet at all. Not even damp. Are you hungry?” She said, getting more and more condescending as she went on. Josh didn’t move or try to speak, only locked eyes with the eagle, staring her down. She wasn’t intimidated, looking back with big, golden eyes, miniature stars, and a sort of soothing affection that started to quickly sap the venom from Josh’s glare. The soft smile and pleasant features were so hard to hate, in fact, that, by the time she broke contact to go and unlatch the bars of the cage, the lion felt almost no anger at all. That did not, however, mean that he didn’t mean to bolt for the door as soon as the bars went down, which he did. What he did not count on was just how irreconcilably bulky his current undergarments were, and how awkward they made balance. He could, also, not have counted on tripping over the two inch padded cross beam that topped the bars of the crib, even though it had lowered nearly entirely into the wooden base they were locked into. 
Josh flailed his arms and flew through the air, making a noise somewhere between a cry for help and a squeal of terror. One second he was tumbling face first towards the ground, the next he was floating, face down, caught in the amazingly strong grip of the golden eagle’s wings.
“Gotchya, silly. You better be more careful, that would have hurt,” she flipped Josh over onto his back, one arm supporting him at the knees, the other, at the neck. It wasn’t an uncomfortable pose, the lion was still in shock from his failed escape attempt, and did nothing but stare up into the bright, happy face of the eagle until she hoisted him over her shoulder, baby like, while using the free arm to open the door. That’s when the squirming began. 
Josh got his arms firmly against the bird’s shoulder and pushed down, swayed violently, side to side, trying to escape, but her grip held firm, her uncanny strength kept him pinned to her shoulder all the way down the dark hallway, littered with doors, and into a brightly lit kitchen that any sixties housewife would have been proud of. It was immaculate, the checkerboard tile floor was fresh and lemony, and the appliances were all up to date and in good repair. A small, four person dining table was in the center of the room, with one chair along each side. A fifth chair, a few feet higher than the rest, sat in a corner. It was to this that the eagle took Josh, though, facing the other direction, the lion had no idea what was coming. 
The eagle plopped Josh down into the high chair with no ceremony, too shocked from the sudden jarring, and still hazy from the drugs and tumble, Josh put up all of no resistance as the eagle locked a snug strap around his waist, flipped a feeding table up from the right side and locked it, too, in place, right above his belly, and securely anchored the posture straps of his mittens and booties to the solid, hardwood frame of the chair, which was bolted liberally into the concrete foundation below the tiles. 
Jarred by the shock of all his recent trauma, both mental and physical, Josh could only stare blankly out into space as he was restrained, made as helpless as a baby in a child seat, and prepared for what Josh could only imagine was going to be an unpleasant experience. When he got his wits back about him, he tried the restraints, a paltry gesture, but he wasn’t about to trust appearances. They held fast to the chair, and Josh slumped against the back rest once again in defeat. The eagle left, retrieving and preparing something that Josh couldn’t see, his chair being turned in the opposite direction, what he did know, however, was how ridiculously uncomfortable it was being diapered in a high chair. The entire mass of the crinkly, absorbent garment showed, bunched up as it was between his legs, and pressed his thighs uncomfortably against the lacquered wooden beams of the high chair. Josh didn’t need to squirm long, however, because the eagle soon returned, bearing a small plastic dish and a glass jar filled with something yellow. Josh grunted and squirmed around in his bonds as the eagle popped the top on the jar, emptying its contents with a spoon onto the plate. At long last, she reached up, unlatched something behind his head, and pulled the huge pacifier and attached muzzle harness away, leaving his jaw sore and weak as she did.
He tried to speak as soon as he could, ready to beg for his freedom, now, and try to buy his way out with whatever he had. She must want something, right? But his mumblings sounded more like the chatter and whine of an infant than actual speech. He waited a moment longer, testing his thick tongue and sore fangs, subjected as they were to trial by pacifier a moment ago, and tried to speak, once more. He got as far as the admirable position of having an open mouth before the eagle scooped up some of the red-yellow goop in a small, wooden, spoon, and stuck it in his mouth. Josh went tense, pushing back all of the two inches that the chair allowed him, and trying to spit out the horribly sweet muck, tasting of cherries and banana, but the eagle had suspected this of him, and clamped his muzzle shut with one hand, blocking off his nostrils. 
“Swallow it,” she said firmly, not allowing any breath into his lungs. He moaned furiously for a moment, thrashing about, trying to escape suffocation, but, in the end, swallowed the horrid stuff. Her grip fell away immediately after, then the hand with the spoon rose again with another mouth full.
“Puh… puhleess stahp…” the lion whined, still thick tongued and stupid from the long night with the pacifier, “Pulease, stop, please stop…” he repeated in desperation as the spoon got closer and closer to his muzzle. Against all probability, it did stop. Hanging in midair while the bird looked down at him. 
“Eat your food, little one. You need it.”
“No… don’t want it…”
“Well I don’t much care what you want, it’s good for you,”
“Not a… cub,” he stammered out, glaring defiantly.
“You sure look like one from here,” she said, putting an end to all argument. Josh’s head nodded, here he was, being fed like a baby and there was no help to be had. He tried a different question, anything to keep the foul muck out of his mouth. 
“Whoa- who are you?” he managed, usable, if not eloquent.
“I am your caretaker, Windrifa,” she said, great pride in her voice, then scratched the lion under the chin. He tried to nip at her hand, and got the wooden spoon flat on the nose, spurting baby food everywhere, “now take your food, and don’t give me any fuss.”
“N- no.”
“What was that?”
“Not until I get what I want, too.”
“Oh? And what do you want?”
“R- real food.”
“This is real food, and it’s tailored to your special nee…”
“Real food!” he nearly shouted, fed up with the sight of her.
“Alright, alright. I can promise you whatever you want tomorrow, but I don’t want to hear another peep out of you for the rest of the night.”
“No, no. I want it now.”
"Well, then you won’t get it at all,” she said with finality, and pressed the gooey muck up against his mouth.
“Oh… Okay, tomorrow,” he said, nodding at the impossible argument. 
“Good, now, your food,” she said, and he opened his mouth, letting the yellow gunk fall flat on his tongue, coating it with what tasted like a roll of life savers with every bite. Windrifa kept the pace up relentlessly, pushing mouthful after mouthful down his throat without so much as a break for breath. Josh would say that he didn’t sigh with relief when the plate was empty, but it would be a lie. Not in his cruelest nightmares could he have imagined being forced to endure such food again, but, as he was about to find out, even nightmares are but pleasant reflections upon reality. Windrifa took another jar, this one green, like mashed avocado, oh, how he hated avocado, and emptied this one onto the plate, as well.
Josh almost turned green himself, breathing hard, and started begging again. Nothing coherent, just lots of please, and no, no more, which were dismissed with equally casual counter arguments from the eagle. He hung his head low and, when the foul gunk, mulched peas, asparagus, and broccoli were offered to him, he denied it openly. Needless to say, Josh would have rather eaten the contents of an elderly woman’s purse. He opened his mouth to object again, but the spoon was injected straight into his maw without courtesy or warning, leaving the polluted taste of vegetable puree coating his tongue, sticking to his teeth and filling his mouth. Still he powered on, I am a lion, I am stronger than this, I won’t let her break me, he repeated in his mind, more to try and convince himself than to state fact. His stomach jumped after every bite. He wondered, briefly, if the bird was trying to make him vomit, for whatever reason. That didn’t seem likely, as she seemed almost as eager to get past the vegetables as did Josh, maybe she had once tasted the stuff. He didn’t know, really. But if it took his mind off the goop he was being force-fed, it was better than nothing. 
Finally, at long last, he swallowed the last bite of the baby food, gasping for breath, “oh, oh thank god…” Windrifa smiled, scratching him on the head and cooing lightly into his ear, then, to the lion’s rising horror, went back to the cupboard and returned with another jar, this one dark blue. There was, of all things, a wide and jolly smile across her face, now, as she spread the stuff onto the plate.
Josh shook his head violently, lips sealed shut, not willing to so much as open for another bite. No food tomorrow was worth this. He would rather go hungry. 
“Oh, oh. Little one…” she started to say.
“My name is Josh!” he replied, cutting her off, “and I won’t eat any more stupid baby food! I did what you said, why can’t you just leave me alone?” She frowned, drooping, then nodded and started scooping the blueish stuff back into the jar. Josh let out an exhasperated sigh, rolling his eyes with exaggerated sarcasm, “fine, I’ll try it.”
She smiled, nodded, and stuck the spoon into his waiting muzzle one more time. Josh accepted, only on the off chance that he might actually like the taste. And, wonders behold, the flavors of pureed berries, sweet, but not too sweet, perked up his attention readily, and he ate the whole jar happily, for once glad of the eagle’s speed. 
“You liked it?” she said, smiling.
“M’hmm,” Josh replied, mouth occupied as he licked the rest of the pleasant, yogurt like flavor from around his mouth, then, turning his neck all the way around, he saw the cabinet they had all come from. It was filled, sardine can fashion, with bottles of baby food, a disproportionate number were of the blueish tinge of the berries. He wouldn’t have asked, had he been thinking straight that day, but, as things stood, the words were out of his mouth before he could stifle them, “Uh, can – uh – I have some more of that?”
She looked up at him, surprised, “Well, of course you can, cutie, you just need to ask properly.”
He blushed, dusted off his manners from dinner with his grandparents some years ago, and repeated, “May I please have some more, uh – mommy?” he said, losing his eloquence when it came to what to call the strange kidknapper.
She smiled, as though she were talking to a small, slow, child, then leaned right down next to the lion’s head, beak just a few inches away, “I’m just your caretaker, little one, not your mommy. I would never claim to be that. Just call me Windrifa, okay?”
Josh nodded again, blushing red as some of the jars of feed, cherry, he guessed, then tried again, “May I please have some more, Windrifa?” 
She smiled fondly, “Of course you can, sweetie,” and fed him another jar, which he ate almost as happily as if it had been meat.
He felt slightly plump bellied after the strange meal, and his stomach couldn’t seem to think what to make of the new food. While it tried its best to digest the muck, Josh’s limbs seemed to grow more and more limp, heavy and stiff. Every minute it took more and more will to struggle, even as the eagle carefully undid the straps and tossed him up onto her shoulder as she carried him back to the nursery. 
The room hadn’t changed since he had left, except, maybe the sun rose a little higher in the sky and was no longer shining into the windows. Strangely enough, Windrifa didn’t take him back to the crib, but to the microwave, where she removed something he couldn’t see. She then walked over and, switching Josh gently to a position in her lap, sat down on a comfy arm chair that had been hiding in a corner.
Josh mustered what will he had left and spoke, “buh… whaamidoinhere?”
“You’re going to need this,” she said, revealing the sized up infant’s feeding bottle, filled to the brim with warm milk, and aimed it directly at the lion’s sagging jaw, drool starting to fall from the sides of his mouth as the muscle relaxants took effect.
Almost as soon as the nipple reached his muzzle, the lion’s age old suckle reflex took over, and he balled up in the eagle’s lap, legs up, paws wrapped around the bottle, and began sucking furiously down the milk, his ability to reason, long since past. Windrifa hefted the lion up onto her shoulder, limp and helpless, then began rhythmically patting him on the back until he released a large belch, no longer able to stop himself.
The lion, even before he finished the last drop of milk, was on his way to the deepest, most comfortable sleep he had had in years. His caretaker set him down in the crib, testing his diaper again, still clean, then raising up the bars to the latch. She looked at the sun, still before noon, she guessed, he would be up in a few hours, and, when he did, that diaper would not be the same way it was now, she guaranteed it.