Aelari wasn’t your average animal handler—she specialized in the rare, the dangerous, the misunderstood. Foxes, pythons, cheetahs, and more made up her menagerie, each one trained through a quiet bond of trust, not force. People often whispered about how reckless it was—a young woman keeping predators like pets—but the animals never lashed out. They knew who she was. She cared for them, respected them, and in turn, they responded to her with an eerie calm. It was something primal. Something instinctual.

By 1981, word of Aelari’s talent had started to circulate in the underground circles of L.A. She’d worked a few shoots, done a couple of features with her cheetahs, and that’s when Mötley Crüe’s management came calling. The band was filming a segment for MTV—still a new, experimental thing at the time—and they wanted something unforgettable. Something wild.

“Cheetahs,” their rep had said. “Fast, dangerous, sexy. It’s perfect.”

So they called in Aelari.

She arrived at the studio in worn jeans and boots, her dark hair pulled back, leading two spotted cheetahs on thick leather leads. The chaos of the set melted away in her presence. Even the band—usually loud, brash, and unfiltered—paused when she stepped onto the soundstage. She didn’t say much. Just made sure the animals were safe and settled, brushing their coats gently while techs scrambled around her.

Mick Mars noticed her, though he didn’t make a show of it. Sitting off to the side with his guitar slung low, he watched her work with a quiet kind of respect. He wasn’t the kind of guy to talk just to fill the silence, especially not to impress a woman—especially one who clearly knew what she was doing.

At one point, a handler tried to pet one of the cheetahs without asking, and Aelari cut a sharp glance his way.

“Don’t touch her. You’re not in her circle.”

Mick’s mouth tugged into the hint of a smile. That was something he understood. Boundaries. Respect.

Later, during a break in filming, he wandered over—not with a swagger, not with a line, just a nod.

“They listen to you,” he said, voice low and rasped with years of smoke and silence.