In room 304 of Mercy General Hospital, the beeping of the monitor weighed heavily on everyone’s hearts. 76-year-old William lay in the hospital bed, his body gaunted and wasted by latestage pancreatic cancer doctors, said he had at most 4 weeks left. The retired zoologologist had refused chemotherapy.

 Instead, he often stared out the window, his thoughts lingering on Simba, the white tiger at Oakdale Wildlife Sanctuary, hundreds of kilome away. 30 years of memories felt as vivid as yesterday. Poachers had killed Simba’s mother, leaving the one-mon-old white tiger cub huddled in the grass. Its leg was broken, its body covered in parasites, and even the vet shook their head, saying, “We should euthanize it.

” It was William who wrapped the cub in his coat and carried it back to his cabin. He fed it warm milk every 2 hours, slept on the floor at night, afraid no one would comfort Simba if it cried from pain, and changed its bandages, and adjusted its splint daily until the little cub could limp along beside him.

 Later, Simba grew into a strong white tiger with gleaming snow white fur and amber eyes. For the next 15 years, they were never apart. Even after William retired 7 years ago, he visited Simba every week without fail, bringing its favorite fresh beef. But the moment William was hospitalized, Simba seemed to lose its spirit. Sanctuary staff said it lay by the fence everyday, refusing to eat or drink, and would howl at the moon at night, its voice and heartbreaking.

 Robert Thompson, the sanctuary director, had no choice but to nervously approach Dr. Dr. Sarah Mitchell, William’s attending physician. Is there any way we can let Simba visit William? Dr. Mitchell was shocked at first. Let an adult white tiger into a hospital room. That’s against the rules. But when Thompson pulled out Simba’s vaccination records and security plans, his eyes read as he added, “William doesn’t have much time left.

” She stared at the words only a few weeks remaining in William’s medical chart. And at 2:00 a.m. that night, Simba, escorted by four handlers, quietly entered the ward through the hospital’s staff entrance. Everyone clenched their fists, fearing the 150 kg white tiger might lose control, but Simba moved as gently as a cloud. It walked to the bed, first nuzzling William’s hand with its nose.

 When it saw William wake up, it slowly pressed its large head against his hand, then carefully climbed onto the bed, curling its snow white body beside William as if afraid of crushing him. William smiled, his emaciated hand stroking Simba’s fur, and to everyone’s surprise, the monitor showed his blood pressure gradually stabilized, even his pain levels dropping.

 Later, William said he wanted to return to his cabin at the sanctuary. Dr. Mitchell gritted her teeth and helped arrange the transfer. William had long modified the cabin with a special passage, allowing Simba to come and go freely. Once back at the cabin, Simba stayed by William’s side everyday. It lay beside the bed to sunbathe during the day and at night curled up on the reinforced hospital bed, resting its paw lightly on William’s leg.

 Miraculously, William’s pain eased, and he could still talk to others. Simba, who had refused food before, began eating again, its fur regaining its luster. But cancer would not spare him. In his final moments, William handed Dr. Mitchell a journal he had kept for 40 years. Let more people know white tigers have hearts, too.

 He then took Thompson’s hand. Don’t let Simba leave. Keep him here. Just before dawn, William took his last breath. Simba lay beside him, letting out soft whimpers, pressing its forehead against his face and staying motionless for 3 hours. Over the next year, Simba often sat by the window, gazing at the bed where William had lain.

 At the age of 23, it passed away peacefully in its sleep. Following William’s final wish, it was buried under an oak tree at the sanctuary, the very spot where 30 years earlier, William had first picked up the injured baby white tiger.