After graduation, I inherited the zoo my grandfather left me. It was bleeding money. I sighed in frustration. "If this keeps up, the animals will be living on air." That night, a line of red pandas knocked on my door. "Director," they pleaded, "we don't want to live on air! We want apples!" The next day, a new sign stood at the park entrance. "We are against animal shows. But we can't stop the animals from showing off." 1 The moment I dragged my suitcase into the zoo, I was pulled into the staff group chat. The group was named "Sunflower Zoo Staff Chat," and it showed about twenty members. I looked up at the dilapidated zoo, where even the main gate was rusted shut, and couldn't for the life of me figure out where those twenty people could possibly be hiding. The weirdest part, though, was that aside from one normal-looking profile picture, all the other "people" had animal avatars. The Red Panda Family: Welcome, new Director! Chubbs the Leopard: Welcome! What's for dinner, Director? Flora the Peacock: Welcome! Director, can you help me find a boyfriend? Nana the Gorilla: Welcome, new Director! Do you like poop? … The chat feed flooded with messages, a waterfall of welcomes, though the comments that followed left me utterly baffled. After dropping my bags, I started to inspect the staff dorms. It was less of a dorm and more of a small wooden cabin with three rooms. The rooms were small but cozy and clean. Grandpa had told me there was one permanent staff member living here, a young man. Once I was settled, I knocked on the door across the hall. No answer. Looked like he was out. I picked up the zoo's recent financial reports instead. The more I read, the more my stomach sank. Finally, I slammed my hand on the table. "It's nothing but losses! If this keeps up, the animals will be living on air." I ran a hand through my hair, stressed. I had to think of something. I was so preoccupied that I didn't notice a flash of green by the window. Echo the Parrot: Scouted her out. New Director is young. She's a girl. Echo the Parrot: She just said she's gonna make us live on air. I opened my phone and saw the two new messages. Someone was just here? I didn't notice a thing. And what was that about "she's a girl"? So rude. I sighed and typed out a message. Me: Hello everyone, I'm the new director, Summer. Me: And don't worry, I have no intention of actually making the animals live on air. After sending the messages, I grabbed my pajamas and headed to the bathroom for a shower. I was halfway through when I heard a thump-thump-thump at the door. "I'm in the shower! Just a minute!" I yelled. The noise outside stopped for a second, then was replaced by a flurry of chittering sounds. "She says she's showering." "Do people have to shower, too?" "Of course they do, silly. People are very clean." Hearing the commotion, I quickly rinsed off, dried myself, threw on my clothes, and opened the door. No one was there. I scanned the area. Not a soul in sight. "Director, Director! Down here!" I followed the voice and looked down. One, two... five red pandas were standing in a perfect line. The two larger ones at the front bowed to me in unison. "Greetings, Director!" The three smaller ones copied them, bowing as well. So they were the ones talking. Wait. How can I understand them? "Director, we don't want to live on air!" the smallest one peeped, poking its head out from behind the others. "We want apples!" My brain short-circuited for a moment, then I remembered the bizarre group chat. Could it be that all the members were... animals? It would explain everything—why a nearly bankrupt zoo had so many "employees," and all their strange comments. "Director, we can perform! Grandpa Director said performing earns money!" It was true. Animal shows could attract a lot of visitors, but it was also a very controversial practice. I shook my head, about to refuse, but then I saw the hopeful, glittering eyes of the red panda family looking up at me. "Please let us try!" I thought about my bank balance. Oh, what the hell. I'm against animal shows, but I can't stop the animals if they insist on showing off! I led the red pandas into my room and knelt down. "So, what kind of tricks can you do?" They immediately lined up from biggest to smallest and stacked themselves on top of each other on the floor. The one on the very top even struck a one-legged "golden rooster" pose. Their cuteness was overwhelming. I instinctively whipped out my phone and captured the moment. "How was that? How was that?" "Absolutely adorable!" I found five apples in the storage room, gave one to each of them, and then ruffled the fur on each of their little heads. Such precious creatures! 2 After the red pandas left, I posted the video I'd taken online. "For just $9.99, you can see this adorable red panda family in person!" Then I dug out a dusty old sign from the warehouse and, with a can of white paint, wrote: "We are against animal shows, but we can't stop the animals from showing off!" I set it up at the park entrance that very night. By the time I was done, the group chat had over 99 new messages. King of Monkey Rock: We can perform, too! Can we get bananas? I replied to them one by one. "What can you all do?" King of Monkey Rock: We can dance! King of Monkey Rock: And Goldie can do this trick where he pretends to eat his own tail! It's amazing! Goldie? I wondered. A golden python avatar popped up. Goldie: No. King of Monkey Rock: You have to perform if you want to eat! No show, and you'll be living on air! King of Monkey Rock: (Ignoring Goldie) Nana's a great shot with her poop. King of Monkey Rock: And Flora's tail feathers are beautiful when she fans them out, but she only does it for females. King of Monkey Rock: And Chubbs! He can do this adorable belly roll! King of Monkey Rock: And... and the tigress! She can sing! I couldn't help but smile. "Performing is completely voluntary! I promise none of you will have to live on air!" 3 After chatting with the animals, I checked the video I'd posted. As expected, the reactions were mixed. Some were curious, while others accused me of animal abuse. "So cute! Where is this? I have to go!" "Are people still supporting animal shows? That simple trick probably cost them a dozen beatings behind the scenes." "Only $9.99 and it's close by. I'll take the kids this weekend." ... I watched the view count climb. It was controversial, but at least it was getting some attention. The next day, I woke up early and followed the feeding charts my grandpa had left behind, preparing nutritious meals for all the animals. But when I got to Chubbs the leopard, I hit a snag. He had his own, separate chart: "Chubbs' Weight-Loss Plan." Underneath the plan, a line of text was highlighted in red. "WEIGHT IS SEVERELY OVER LIMITS! ADHERE STRICTLY TO THE MEAL PLAN!" But after he finished his meager portion, he rolled onto his back, showed me his belly, and did several pathetic little wiggles. "Director... hungryyyy." I had to look away. I couldn't bear it. "I'm sorry, Chubbs, but you need to lose weight." "What's 'lose weight'? I'm hungryyyy~" He was acting so cute and pathetic, I could barely stand it. Was this really the king of the savanna I remembered from documentaries? He was acting like a giant housecat. "Can I pet him?" a girl's voice asked from behind me as I was about to leave with the empty food bucket. It was only eight in the morning. We already had a visitor? "I saw the gate was open, so I came in," she said, holding up a ticket. "Don't worry, I paid." Pet him? Under normal circumstances, with a normal leopard, absolutely not. But with Chubbs? I knelt down and asked him. "Chubbs, will you let this nice lady pet you?" "Petting gets me food?" "Nope." "Oh. Okay, head pats only. No belly rubs." I chuckled and turned to the girl. "You can pet his head, but please, no feeding." After she promised three times, she reached out and happily stroked Chubbs's head. I made a mental note to put up a new sign by his enclosure. "DO NOT FEED." 4 As time went on, more people started coming to the zoo. It was just a trickle, but it was better than the emptiness of before. Since we were short-staffed, I had to stand at the gate and check tickets myself. Suddenly, my phone started buzzing nonstop. I pulled it out. The group chat, of course. Echo the Parrot: Director, Director! Petal and Sprout are fighting! The Red Panda Family: Oh no, they're at it again! Petal and Sprout? I quickly typed in the chat, "Who?" The Red Panda Family: Our kids! I broke into a run, arriving at the red panda enclosure out of breath. The two little ones were still going at it, surrounded by a crowd of amused onlookers. "That apple is mine! MINE!" "No, it's MINE!" It turned out they were fighting over a single apple a tourist had thrown them. Their parents, completely used to the drama, were diligently performing their stacking routine with their sister off to the side. Seeing the scene, I felt a mix of anger and heartache. But the first priority was to break them up. I leaped into the enclosure in three long strides, grabbing Petal with my left hand and Sprout with my right, pulling them apart. "It's your fault! The Director's here!" "No, it's your fault! I don't wanna go to the timeout cage!" Even as I held them, they stretched out their short little paws, trying to swipe at each other. "One more move and there will be no apples tomorrow!" I shouted. That finally got them to settle down, though they still glared daggers at each other. I sighed and carried them off. Fighting was bad behavior. A timeout in the "little black house" was unavoidable. I had just dealt with that when I received a complaint from another tourist. "What kind of zoo is this? It's small and run-down, fine, but how can you have such ill-mannered animals? Who taught it to throw poop at people?" I managed a bitter smile. Nobody taught her. I sprinted over to the gorilla enclosure. Sure enough, Nana was standing atop a fake rock mountain, hooting and hollering, a dark, lumpy object clutched in her hand. She was scanning the crowd for her next target. Several visitors were already victims, and a foul odor permeated the air. "Director's here! Director's here!" a green shadow screeched as it circled overhead. It was Echo, the talking parrot. "Director, Director! Do you like poop?" My vision went dark. I was at my wit's end. "Nana, stop throwing poop right now! One more throw and it's the timeout cage for you!" I yelled. "Timeout cage, timeout cage! Nana, you're in trouble!" Echo gloated, clearly enjoying the chaos. "You're not getting away with this either!" I shot back. "Oh no, oh no! Echo's going to the timeout cage, too!" "What a terrible zoo! That gorilla has no manners! I want a refund!" someone in the crowd yelled. A chorus of agreement followed. "This shirt is ruined! You have to pay for it!" A middle-aged man grabbed my arm. "Of course, of course. My apologies. Could you please add me on WeChat?" I said with a strained smile. "Nana, get him!" Echo shrieked. "Ooh-ooh-aah-aah! Okay!" The next second, the man holding my arm was baptized by poop for a second time. It was over. I was on the verge of tears. But I had to admit, Nana's aim was impeccable. I was standing right next to him and didn't get a single drop on me.
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