Hemingway was bored in the summer of ‘29. He had a nasty case of writer’s block and spent his days making odd bets with friends. One of these bets was that a grizzly bear could take on an African lion. Seeing I was the only grizzly he knew, he liquored me up and lured me into a cage with the unsuspecting lion. The poor cat never stood a chance. I knew to hang too closely with Hemingway was dangerous, and this was the wakeup call I needed. I was on the next train out of Paris and never saw dear Ernest again.